3 Miles Apart
by John Bethany
Summary: This is a tale of British paratroops that run parrallel to that of the American squad in Saving Private Ryan. It's a bit violent, has some quite bad language, but don't say I didnt warn you! Finished!
1. Scattered Noon

Not too far a walk from the coastal road of northern France lies a small collection of towns, cities, rural settings, and farms, all woven intricately by a netting of roads and paths. The coastal breeze rocks the trees in a calming manner, whilst the bushes and hedgerows sway comfortingly amongst the greenery. Just to the left hand side of a nearby dirt road laid the farming town of "St Fredrique du Clamont" the town was known for harvesting some of the finest and best quality barley in that entire region of France. There wasn't many houses or buildings in the village; save for the farm house and several stranded cottages. The stacks of barley stood as separate entities guarding the village from intruders. Even as the sun crept back over the horizon, and the murmur of indistinct voices became more apparent, all was calm in the village. All save for five minutes later.

The machinegun had flared into life and spat bullets with uncompromising force. Panic and commotion had torn the section into pieces. Only two remained, yet they were unaware. The din of the machinegun from the stately farmhouse had drowned any chance of communication. Staff sergeant Jim McIntyre was curled up in a distorted bundle behind the shrinking brick wall, just opposite the farmhouse. Private Edward Williams lay behind one of the guardian stacks of barley; McIntyre had pushed him out of the way of the passing machinegun fire as soon as it started. He looked on to his commanding officer to see bullets dithering all around him, tearing up chunks of earth, brick, and mortar.

Without pause, Williams detached a grenade from his bandolier and threw it at the direction of the farmhouse. It detonated with a roar of dirt and dust. In this moment of confusion, he signalled McIntyre to run around the house. He acknowledged and darted around the side of the house. No sooner had he gotten around the corner did the machineguns splutter back into life in a wild hail of panic fire. The bullets whizzed and span past Williams, he clumsily wriggled his way down the road to a muddy embankment and hid in the ditch till the situation unravelled.

McIntyre cautiously creaked the door open and slinked inside. The corridor of the farmhouse was a surprisingly well-built, sturdy wall, painted a calming blue, with paintings of the surrounding countryside adorning the walls. On the second floor he could hear the Germans blaring their machinegun at the wall outside. They thought he was still behind the brick wall. From the lower floor window he saw the spent machinegun casings fall like molten rain onto the grass below. He looked back up to hear the machinegun click dry. He feverishly scrambled to the stairs and pressed his back to the wall. He slid up the staircase to what appeared to be the bedroom where the Germans were. Each breath he drew became more laboured and quivering the nearer he got to the door, their voices getting louder and clearer. He wished he didn't understand German, but it all came so clear.

"Hans, suppress them, I'm going to reload the MG42."

"Shit, shit, shit, the gun's jammed. Shit, we're gonna die!"

"Hans, calm the fuck down, just throw this."

It was then McIntyre took his chance, pulled the safety latch from his Sten and threw the door open, both Germans looked in despair at McIntyre, one of which was holding firmly to his grenade. McIntyre pulled the trigger and pumped several rounds into each soldier, blood popping and spraying from every bullet mark. Suddenly dropping to the floor, crippled in a growing pool of their essence. He slung his sub machinegun and went to the window, Williams peeked from his ditch to see McIntyre wave to him, "Area clear, meet me at the back door of the farmhouse" Williams saluted and began to amble his way to the farmhouse.

McIntyre pulled off his helmet and trudged out the room, his foot catching one of the dead soldiers. He looked at who he presumed to be Hans; his face strewn with fear, pain, and horror, all swirled together in calming agony. McIntyre sat at the top of the stairs and crumbled.

Today was D Day plus two, word had spread that several towns and villages needed to be cleared for the safe passage of an American squad on a high priority mission. Out of the two sections sent to heed this call, only two men had survived. All they had left was an empty village bursting at the seams with corpses. If they were going to complete their mission, and that of the Americans, they would have to put in everything they had, and that of everyone around them. Sleep was not an option.


	2. New Recruits

The crisp air of the new day scampered along the meadows and byways of Normandy. No doubt, the farmers would have been up by then, reaping the crops and herding the cattle. The past few years had seen an end to all that. The still village of St Fredrique du Clamont was a still sleeping giant that would not move, even for the shrill cry of the morning air. The dew glistened on the grass like fallen stars of the previous night; all the while, several figures busied themselves with the laborious task of shifting those unfortunate enough to see this day.

McIntyre awoke with a shudder of panic and disorientation. He had fallen asleep, yet Williams had neglected to tell him. He was inside the bedroom where the two Germans had been only yesterday, firing round after round at what remained of his squad. He scrambled up and looked around. The walls were the colour of the corridors, a restful and patient blue, while the floor and ceiling had no need to disguise themselves with colour. They were stark wood, smoothed and shined to the utmost delicacy. The bed of the bedroom was worn, rusted and dead. It lay sprawled in the corner of the room, even to look at it weakened its structure.

Williams opened the door and spied McIntyre, who still was alarmed at his drowsiness of the day before. "It's alright sir, you wouldn't believe our luck. Turns out, some lads from the 1st airborne were passing this way. They've decided to hook up with us for a while, well, until they find their squad captain, a Captain Winslow. Looks like you're in charge for now sir." McIntyre got to his feet and pointed to Williams, "Sorry sir, didn't sleep a wink" he said, hands raised in protest. McIntyre slugged out the room and went into the courtyard, there he saw four men in full airborne uniform loitering around a large pile of corpses, mostly British. Once they saw McIntyre, they sprang to attention. Williams walked out and introduced each soldier in turn.

"This here, is Private James Finlay. He's the squads support gunner" A largely built man re-straightened himself and saluted McIntyre.

"This is Private Josef Miller. He's a basic rifleman of her majesties armed forces, and a bloody good one too." A fairly average looking man tipped his helmet and acknowledged McIntyre.

"This is Private Henry Donahue. Squad sniper" A wiry young man balanced himself on his sniper rifle and nodded to McIntyre in a friendly manner.

"And finally, this is Private Simon Johnson. Sub machine gunner, to take the place of Captain Winslow, whenever he shows up that is." The last man stood tall and affirmative, he gave a little smile to McIntyre's approach and saluted him.

The morning breeze tickled McIntyre's neck. He smiled indefinitely at the squad that stood before him. He just had to get them out of this mess.

As the day grew on, the four new recruits began the laborious task of burying the mountain of bodies. It reached midday; McIntyre sat with Williams on an embankment near the road. He perched himself next to Williams and began a conversation that could not end happily,

"Williams, how did these lads get here in the first place?"

"Funny story actually sarge, well not funny, but you get the idea…"

"Get on with it Williams"

"Sorry sir. Well, you see, after you cleared the farmhouse, and you decided you needed a breather, I bumped into them clearing out the houses. They had came in on the reverse approach looking for Captain Winslow. So I decided we could take them with us. You never know sarge…"

McIntyre stared at the sky; the verticality of the Sun showed him it was midday, the burning orb directly above them all. Williams saw how uncomfortable McIntyre was and began to re-activate the conversation,

"Also got some new orders from HQ"

McIntyre looked bemused, "How?"

"I used the German Radio, they said that we should advance along the main road to our south and clear the next few towns. There should be some men waiting around that area by that time. Although we don't need to move for a few hours yet."

McIntyre began looking grim, yet stricken with fear, "Did you check to make sure the Krauts weren't listening?" Williams face dropped, "Oh, shit"

As if coincidences were an everyday occurrence, Private Donahue called from his lofty tree vantage point, "Sirs! Gerry patrol coming in from the northbound road. Two Squads and a half-track. Scramble!" At once all the soldiers darted around the village to their designated locale and hid.

The distant rumble of the German Anti-personal vehicle grew louder, like oncoming thunder that rolls overhead in an unprecedented storm. Accompanying this were the pitter-patter of German infantry boots on dirt road. The storm brewed and dragged itself ever further to the village. McIntyre stood against the walls of one of the rural houses with Private Miller to his left. The thatched roof and wooden walls caught their uniforms and snagged them to the spot, waiting for the Germans. Then in came the lumbering beast, several fixed machineguns with 12 German soldiers marching alongside it. Its metal coat fired the suns rays into all directions, even blinding a few German Soldiers. The grinding stopped, the boots halted, and all was still. The German squads slowly began their sweep of the village, each step taken with the deadliest of cautions. McIntyre's heart was the lump in his throat.


	3. The Fall of St Fredriques

Midday. The coastal breeze eerily drifted away to a wither, then to nothing. Clouds rose from their slumber and flooded the sky, blotting the sun and its astral playground in drear. The Germans had brought the storm. The tiniest drop dived to earth, closely followed by his brothers and sisters, all differing in shape and size, but this was never to be taken notice of. They churned the earth to clag and mud, which clung to anything that touched it, especially German boots, boots that paced around the small village square of St Fredrique du Clamont.

Concealed inside the thatched buildings of the village lay five British paratroops, their eagle-eyed comrade perched in the now drenched canopy of an overlooking tree. They cowered in the damp and dank rooms of the rural village, the German soldiers securing the perimeter of the courtyard. McIntyre leaned toward Miller and whispered into his ear, "Remember, hold your fire until Donahue takes out the Half-track commander, then we'll take them out in a cross-fire" Similarly, in the house facing to their left Privates Williams and Johnson were discussing what they should do. A leak from the roof tapped on Williams' helmet, he took it off, then quickly replaced it when the frigid rain water impacted on his head. Johnson shuffled himself into comfort and queried Williams, "What do we do? They're coming this way" Williams peered through the window to see three German troops making their way to the house. Williams noticed the stairs and grabbed Johnson; he dragged him up the creaky and soft wooden stairway to the second floor. Much like the farmhouse, the walls were painted blue, but the moisture caused the paint to flake and peel like decomposing flesh. The short corridor resulted in three rooms, to which Williams pulled Johnson into the one facing the courtyard. They could still see the Germans advancing through the village, when the front door of the first floor flung open.

Miller and McIntyre saw in horror the Germans search the house where Johnson and Williams lurked. McIntyre gripped his Sten tighter and felt like biting a hole through his lip in anxiety. Miller hauled McIntyre's attention to the half-track where a tall figure with a noble officers cap emerged. He stretched himself and stood upon the rain beaten floor of the courtyard. His leering eyes burnt a way through the German soldiers standing in attention to his appearance. He slowly walked toward the farmhouse and signalled to two soldiers. They agreed and scurried off to the half-track. Although he had only been outside for a matter of seconds, his trench coat was dyed a darker shade of leather and his expression was unwavering in its grimace. All that needed to be done was for Donahue to take his shot, and they could get this horrible task over and done with.

Donahue couldn't do anything. He didn't mind the lashing of the rain, or the biting cold that came consequently, it was what he saw that shook him to the spot. He had peered through his sniper scope to check the area while he waiting for the commanding German officer to rear his head and saw the worst possible thing imaginable. Not too far in the east, marching, grinding and roaring along the dirt road were two tanks and a platoon of German soldiers. If they attacked now they'd be dead. Nevertheless, no one else could comprehend what stilled Private Donahue.

Private Finlay grew impatient. The German commander had been strolling in the open for ages, why hadn't Donahue taken his shot? He had been lying in the roof of one of the houses, where unaware to him, several German soldiers were exploring. He could see the courtyard through a gap in the thatch work of the roof, the rain patted and tumbled onto the barrel of his support gun, but he never budged. The commander began to make his way back to the half-track, and Finlay didn't need any more persuasion. He flicked open the sight of his weapon and glared down at the commander. He pulled the pin of his gun back and opened fire. The bullets spat and zinged through the air, the commander didn't have time to react. He was broken down to the mud by frantic heavy machine gun fire. Finlay also managed to bring down a few other German soldiers. The boom of his weapon alerting them, but not soon enough, as they were torn asunder by high calibre rifle rounds expelled with demented force. When the Germans inside Finlay's house heard the resonating thunder of Finlay's Bren gun, they readied their weapons and ripped several rounds each into the ceiling. The burning sting of rifle fire ripped through Finlay, first his left leg, then several through his chest. The soldiers held their fire only to have their suspicion confirmed when crimson liquid began trickling from the holes in the ceiling and forming pools on the already rouge carpeting.

The second the others heard Finlay open fire; chaos erupted. Miller and McIntyre began targeting German troops and squaring rounds into them. This unwittingly drew out the Germans from Finlay's house, McIntyre tearing one down who was unlucky enough to march straight out into the open, bullets bearing down into his upper torso. Miller took more care with his fire, he saw one through a window and shot. The round span through the air and connected with the German's side, he collapsed to the floor and wailed in agony. Johnson and Williams still sat huddled in the upstairs of their house. Neither one wanted to risk opening fire on the Germans in case they were caught unaware and killed. Unfortunately, the Germans in their house had sheltered themselves in the lower floor and were returning fire to Miller and McIntyre. Johnson held himself and buried his face in panic.

Donahue was stricken with disbelief, what the fuck were they doing? Seeing that there was nothing better to do, he took a deep breath and aimed. Three catastrophically loud cracks were heard, and three Germans inside Johnson and Williams' house fell lifelessly to the floor. Miller and McIntyre took this as their opportunity and darted outside to Finlay's house. The other Germans were suppressed and couldn't shoot back in risk of being sniped by Donahue. The rain continued to barrage the area and ding off Millers' helmet. McIntyre prepped a grenade and ordered Miller to open the back door to Finlay's house. Miller swung open the door and McIntyre hurled the grenade in. They ducked behind a fallen tree and shielded themselves from the blast. The house shook like a paper model in the wind and the sound of commotion died.

Williams looked from his window to see the house opposite ignite and usher forth all manners of masonry, glass and bits of body. He looked to his right and saw Johnson sobbing in the corner. "Not like this" he murmured to himself. Williams picked up his rifle and creaked the door open. Johnson didn't even notice he was gone. Williams slinked down the corridor to hear the Germans in their alarm. His understanding of German was not as good as McIntyre's, all he could make out was, "Hopeless" and "Forgive". He glanced down the stairs to see the remaining two German soldiers and how it reminded him of himself and McIntyre just yesterday. He held back a tear of pity and stealthily manoeuvred down the stairs. He pulled back the bolt of his rifle and aimed for the soldiers head, at least they wouldn't suffer. He fired. The other German soldier was sprayed with the claret of his friend, and spun to see Williams loading his rifle again. The German squeezed the trigger the instance that Williams did. Both slumped to the floor.


	4. Tactical Withdrawl

The last of them began to tumble down, each colliding with minute splashes and spattering. The storm ceased and dried itself up. The clouds sponged up the rainwater and awkwardly shuffled from the sky. Although not as vibrant and poignant as before, the sun emerged from its cavern and hovered listlessly in the sky, seeming to emulate the drear of the rain clouds. One of the victims to the spontaneity of the climate was the quaint town of St Fredrique du Clamont, the turmoil that had spilled onto its streets just moments before signed the warrant for several German soldiers and one British paratrooper.

Williams stood lurched over the bathroom sink. Scarlet fluid was awash over the aqua-tiled floor and sink. Squatting in the sink sat a bullet, a German rifle slug, wrapped in robes of blood and torn cloth. His right arm was plastered with crusty dry blood that wept down the entire length of his arm. The gaping crimson hole in his upper arm shone with crystal clarity. In his left hand, he gripped his side arm, a standard British service revolver (Webley mark six to be precise). He couldn't be too sure the coast was clear. His teeth were permanently gritted to blare out the blinding pain of his arm. He'd plucked the little git out of his arm, it was all he could do for now.

The door behind him creaked. Williams spun around and opened 2 rounds into the plaster wall, that spluttered with a cough of dust and splinters. "Fucking hell! You could've killed me!" Johnson squeaked the door open and walked into the room, Williams was shivering with pain. It was then that Johnson saw Williams' arm and the gore that was spread down it. He recoiled and stood aghast.

Williams opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged around for something to quell the sore. Johnson stood disabled to do anything as Williams frantically grabbed and lashed out for a bottle to soothe his pain.

"You could use that blue bottle on the left. It says it should reduce any pain, and there's some bandages on the shelf above. I'll give you a hand"

Johnson reached into the small cupboard and removed the items to aid Williams. Both men glanced a smile at each other. "Thanks Johnson"

McIntyre nosed the barrel of his gun through the door, then followed by his head. He inspected the room, but only enough for a quick skim. On the floor lay the strewn corpses of five German soldiers, one sustaining a severe head-shot, from seeming close range. He loaded his Sten and crept into the heart of the room. "Ed!" he called out into the murk, "Ed! It's Jim!" he heard a creak from the stairs to his left. He spun and aimed his weapon at the staircase. The soft laboured steps of Williams made their way down the stairs followed by Johnson. McIntyre was relieved to see his friend alive and well. "Ed, you're okay, that's a good spot of luck. I thought…." He saw Williams' arm now bandaged, but still red, "Bloody hell, are you okay?" Williams sighed and slung his rifle over his left shoulder, "I'll survive"

"Listen. Johnson, Williams, we've got a major crisis. There's a mobile German division headed this way, they could be hear any minute. We have to go, Miller and Donahue are outside near the opposite farmhouse. We'll meet up then make our way to the next objective, okay?"

Both men nodded, yet were knocked over by the sound of heavy cannon shells ripping through the unstable structure of the farmhouse. "SHIT!" cried McIntyre, "They're already here! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!" At once all three men burst from the farmhouse and dashed across the courtyard, the bodies of the previous tussle still lying limply on the floor. From the northern road came the crackle of rifle and machine gun fire, accompanied by the bass of the thundering roar of the tank cannons. They ripped into the village tearing each building to rubble and dust. Splinters and shards spat and launched themselves across the courtyard.

Donahue and Miller stood perplexed to the new situation that was unravelling around them. McIntyre grabbed Donahue and Miller and kept running forward into the woodland around the village, closely followed by Williams and Johnson. Williams protested, "But sir, we need to follow the road to the next way point!" McIntyre still gripped Donahue and ran, calling to Williams behind him, "Stuff that! Just keep running!" Bullets began cracking, splintering off the trees they passed, wood, and bark flaring up behind them. They had escaped.

The village was reduced to ruin. The dust began to settle and the German soldiers advanced further into the damage. Nothing was left standing. The iron beasts rolled on into what remained of the town and stopped. The troops assembled into a procession formation, awaiting the command of their commandant. A proud figure emerged from his tank and looked around the devastation that he had instructed, "Men!" he barked out, "This garrison has been lost to us by the intruders to our proud land. Never forget this defeat, or you shall pay with your life, and with the fate of the fatherland!" These words could be heard resonating from the rubble of St Fredrique du Clamont as the remaining five British paratroops fled for escape.


	5. Becoming Brothers

The descending sun broke its way through the disorganisation of the tree branches, spraying the woodland floor with a cacophony of hues of an aura that glimmered as it dropped. The red-orange-yellow of the sky blared deep into the beckoning astral space, time to rest. The trees nodded in agreement to the suns suggestion and rocked their branches in time to the breeze, leaves striking with all manners of green and auburn. For several British paratroopers moving through this sight, they had to keep moving. They had just escaped the closest encounter any of them had ever been in; luckily, the Germans hadn't given chase.

McIntyre stopped first, the rest of his teammates soon followed suit. He slung his Sten and leaned against a tree, a branch sticking into his side slightly. He slid the helmet from his head and gave a sigh of relief.

"Well lads, looks like we'll need to find a spot to sleep. Don't suppose the Germans will be bothering us for a while, bunch of lazy buggers. Not far now. Donahue, you've got point, lets keep it together."

He replaced his helmet and Donahue slinked forward to head the group to their resting place for the night. McIntyre walked past Williams and checked his wound in a passing glance. Miller, who had kept quiet until now, chirped up at McIntyre in a more inquisitive tone than he was used to.

"Sir," he began, "Why are you so protective of Private Williams? You keep looking at him to make sure he's all right. Is something bothering you?"

McIntyre turned his head to Miller and arched his back to put out any cricks in his spine. "Well," McIntyre looked like he would be a while, "Williams and myself were part of a special detachment of two squads to aid in a special operation of clearing out a few German garrisons. I was in a squad with Williams, led by captain Thornton, and we were to meet up with the second squad a few miles east of the Clamont Chateau. There were six of us in that squad. Me, Captain Thornton, Williams, and Privates Wilson, Tomkins, and Rupert. We reached our waypoint, but the second squad hadn't. We waited for a few hours in the dark and gloom but they didn't arrive, so we went on ahead. The next few miles of French soil were deserted of any German activity. We used a radio at one of the Garrisons to call in for assistance and got information that meant that we needed to do the mission even more importantly than before. Some yanks were preparing for a mission across Normandy; we had to clear the following towns to keep their mission going as smooth as possible."

He wiped his brow and continued, "We reached St Fredrique du Clamont at about early morning. We weren't expecting that much resistance, nevertheless I went forward to check the coast was clear. Everything seemed to be okay and I called Tomkins to follow me. That's when the MG42 opened up and got him. We all leapt for cover. Thornton was telling us to keep our heads down, when his got blown off. So, there was me, Williams, Wilson, and Rupert left pinned by this machinegun. I gave the call for covering fire so I could make a run closer to the farmhouse, and being good mates, they obeyed and started firing back. Rupert got hit in the shoulder, and needed help. I reached the wall and Williams, Rupert and Wilson followed on the right flank past the haystacks. Wilson was carrying Rupert on his back, and they lagged back for too long. If I had told them to stay back, then none of this would've happened. Williams is the last man left of our squad. I can't do this mission without him."

Miller lowered his head in respect; "Sorry sir, didn't realise" He shuffled back into formation with the squad and continued moving with them.

Donahue halted and lowered himself, "Sir! Come here, there's something you should see" McIntyre crept up beside Donahue, woodland foliage crunching beneath his feet no matter what he did. Donahue pointed to the distance, to a pool of orange light that sat quite comfortably in the woodland view.

Donahue turned to McIntyre, "I think it's a shack of sorts. Could be German, could be French Resistance, I'm not entirely sure. We'd best go just a little closer, just to be on the safe side" He put one step forward and the door to the distant shack opened.

Each soldier aimed their weapons to the oncoming figure, and peeked from around the trees, to give some sort of cover to them. The figure was alone, and looked to have no weapons. Each step it took went harshly against the leaves and grass of the woodland surface. It gradually slowed down to a still standing motion, but began to frantically look around, as if to be looking for the soldiers.

McIntyre swung from behind his tree and aimed the gun at the figure's head, "Don't dare do anything stupid," he threatened into her ear. Her? He moved back in amazement to see the figure in the remaining light of the day.

Although her face looked delicate, it was beaten and grimy from what appeared to be several days hard work. She wore a French soldiers jacket that looked a bit too big for her, but seemed to suit her frame. Her boots were coated in a thick layer of clag and mud from working in the woods. Her hair swung elegantly down from her head and caught the suns rays in a suffusion of bronzed blonde that looked out of place with the rest of her worn apparel. As she turned, McIntyre saw the beauty of her eyes that radiated like pearls from the deepest dark of subterranean bliss.

She looked at each soldier in turn, frightened as to what they would do. Then she spoke up, "Are you the British paratroops?" her accent rising and falling with each word, McIntyre shook himself from the transfixing sight, "Why yes, we are proud members of her majesties armed forces, why do you ask?"

"You must follow me, quick. There is not much time" She grabbed hold of McIntyre's arm and led them away to her home in the woods. Miller slung his rifle and looked to Williams, "Finally" he said relieved, "a bloody break."


	6. Annabelle

The Sun had shied away back to its home beyond the horizon and let the spiny form of the crescent moon reside in its place high above in the sky. The woods were no place to rest, the wind raced hysterically past the trees beating out a sound reminiscent to that of wolves crying their woes to the moon. The trees became statues of bark, solemn and omnipotent in the wood, towering above all those who dared venture into it, their fingers clawing blindly into the night for prey to ensnare and capture. Luckily, the only people inside the woods were secure in the sanctity of a shack, built many years ago, yet still fully functional. Inside were the remains of three British paratrooper squads, and one French Resistance operative, all huddled next to the fireplace.

The French woman leaned against the frame of the fireplace, the soldiers stood opposite her, yet still nestling in the heat of the fire. She swung her hair back and addressed the men, "You are the men wanting to go through Renneville, yes?" McIntyre straightened himself and replied, "Yes, we are. It is of the utmost importance that you get us there" The woman tutted and looked to the fire, "There is no point going now," she stirred the fire with a metal rod and continued, "their snipers are still in position, if you go now, you will be dead before you reach the church."

Williams butted in front before McIntyre could respond, "Church? What's there?" The woman looked up at Williams, "The remainder of your comrades are in hiding there. If you do not liberate them soon, they will surely be killed by the Germans." McIntyre slammed his fist against the wall of the shack in rage. The entire building quivered in fright of the force of McIntyre's blow. He spoke without raising his head, not wanting to dignify anyone with a full conversation, "How many are left?" The woman adjusted her jacket, "At most I would say ten, they were surprised at the German's ferocity." McIntyre turned his back to the wall and slid down it in exhaustion and despair.

Johnson and Miller kept by the fire, they were already bitterly cold, they might as well make the most of what they had. Donahue was slumped against the window, staring out into the night; the stars dwindled, sparkled, and then slowly meandered their way across the sky, as if they had all the time in the world. He breathed deep and looked back into the room where five people beckoned to the fire to keep them warm through the night. That was when he saw something in the corner of the room, almost completely submerged in shadow. Propped up against a wall of the cabin was a German sniper rifle, in perfect working order. He made his way over to the still mysterious woman. "Excuse me," he enquired, she turned in response, "Are you any good with that sniper rifle?" she stared back at her instrument, then to Donahue, "As a matter of fact, I am a highly trained marksman with German rifles. Why do you ask?" A wry, yet pleasantly small smile skipped onto Donahue's face. He had a plan.

He walked over to McIntyre, who was kneeling by the fire. "Sir," McIntyre still looked at the fire, his face graven and sad. "Sir," repeated Donahue, this time McIntyre turned his head ever so slightly to Donahue, "Sir, I have a plan to make the route into Renneville easier" McIntyre pricked up his ears to the sound of this. "Well sir," continued Donahue, "Turns out, the lass is a sniper. We could sneak into Renneville in about an hour and clear it of enemy sniper activity. We'd need someone to cover our back obviously, but just one man. Then in the morning, we can safely get to the lads inside the church. What do you say sarge?" McIntyre stood up and looked Donahue in the eyes, "If you can get her to go with you, then by all means." Donahue smiled again, then told the woman of his plan.

Soon enough, fatigue had gotten to the men and they were sound asleep. Save for Williams. He was still awake, eyes slightly bloodshot, as was his arm. The wind had died down and he was sat outside. It was too dark to really make out where the trees turned to the sky, it just seemed like totalitarian twilight. Every now and then, he would look to his arm, not seeing the true grim gore that it was due to the darkness that had enveloped him. Steps behind him began to dawn on him and he aimed his sidearm to it. The woman held up her hands in defence, "What are you doing?" she asked, "put that thing down!" he holstered his sidearm and looked to his shoes. "Sorry," he apologised, "can't be too careful these days you know" The woman sat down beside him and joined him in staring into the inky black of their surroundings. She hated the awkward silence and lit a conversation, "You cannot sleep?" Williams looked at her; she was lost in the deep infinity of the sky, he continued her conversation anyway, "Not really no, not since we dropped into Normandy. Haven't slept at all these past few days, I know I really should, but its like partial insomnia. My body wont let me sleep." Surprisingly she took note of his situation and felt sorry for him. Williams posed the question to her, "I'm getting ready to leave in an hour," she replied, "the sniper and I are going into Renneville to clear it of German marksmen. If I sleep, I will not be fit enough to engage in combat." She glanced to Williams, who was still transfixed on her, "You know," she continued, "we do need someone to cover us in case the Germans come after us. Would you help?" Williams realised how long he had looked at her for, then clumsily looked away. She laughed at his antics. "Why not," Williams answered, "you need help, I'll support you. " The woman's face radiated with a beaming smile that made her entire face defy the darkness of the night. She looked at her watch, "Well, we should best get ready" she picked herself up and began to walk into the cabin, Williams hastily got up and asked, "You've never told us your name yet. What is it?" She broke a little smile and said, "Annabelle" Then both of them went into the cabin and woke Donahue. The night was young, and there was much to do.


	7. City of Snipers

Renneville. The once proud city sat on the sidelines of one of Frances' many rivers. The crumpled corpses of buildings scattered throughout the remnants of the city grounds. Massive golden tongues of fire licked and lapped at the night sky, hurling shadows across the empty roads and streets from the sanctity of their ruin prison. The river bent in an "s" shape alongside the city, two bridges daring to close then gap over it. The town seemed dead; all life was reduced to the simple rustle of trees, old market stalls and the tattered rags of bodies that were left to rot in the streets. These were the unlucky many that had their lives taken from them by the fiendishly accurate German snipers. The wind was gentle, yet sounded shockingly harsh when it caught the cloth of the abandoned market place, the canvas whipping up in the slightest breeze. Near the towns centre knelt the church, the resting place for the remainder of the allied soldiers who had unwittingly ventured into the town without reinforcements. This was the objective for three people, hastily approaching the town. Two were members of the British airborne division, the other a French Resistance operative: their guide.

Donahue stopped beside the road leading over the bridge and into the town, "Right you two, we need to formulate a plan on how to sneak into the city and take out those bloody snipers. Annabelle, what are the snipers positions?" Donahue unfurled a map from his belt and spread it out across the fresh Normandy grass, then folded it again so as only Renneville could be seen. He handed her a bright red marker, "Okay gentlemen," she began, "There are two snipers guarding this main road, one facing each end. On this crescent road next to the town hall, there is another. The last two are situated in the Hotel, both facing in the other directions, so as to cover the other." Donahue rubbed his chin in contemplation, "Blast, it's a classic case of sniper duets, perfect for defensive manoeuvres. There has to be a better way to get inside the city." He stooped and began muttering to himself, "If only I could get into that hotel, I could provide sniper cover so that those two could remove the remaining sniper presence" Williams looked closely at the area map of Renneville and noticed something, "There doesn't happen to be an underground sewer system does there?" he asked Annabelle. The light of realisation clicked on in her head, "Yes, yes there is. And it goes right underneath the hotel too!" the second Donahue heard Annabelle say "hotel" he snapped his head to her in optimism.

After ten minutes of formulating, Donahue explained the plan to them one more time, "Okay; Williams will enter the hotel via the sewers and remove the snipers there. From there, Annabelle and I can then take out the remaining snipers in the vicinity. Are we clear on that?" Williams and Annabelle nodded. "Oh, one thing," he remembered, "Williams, you're going to have to sling your rifle. It makes too much noise to stealthily take out the snipers in the hotel. You're going to have to use this…" Donahue produced what appeared to be a length of dull lead pipe with a trigger and pin. "This," continued Donahue, "Is a Welrod silenced pistol. Its just like the lads at the OSS use, I had a feeling I'd need it for something. Slight catch though, it only fires one round at a time, so you're going to have to reload after each shot. Good point is that it fires German pistol rounds, so there's plenty ammo to be found." Williams accepted Donahue's gift with little praise or gusto, but it was necessary to the mission, so he had to take it.

They crept into the river just several hundred meters west of the town, Williams leading the way. After clambering down a set of rusted ladders, they splashed into the river; it soaked Williams up to his waist. The water was horrid, scum collected around Williams' boots, and whenever his feet brushed past something stiff and unyielding beneath the waters surface, he nearly choked on his own vomit as to what it could be. The light from the burning husks of buildings lit the river up with startling colour and vibrancy, even if it was coated in a crust of weeds. They reached the sewer entrance, a small looking circular metal porthole that leads into the Cities sewer system and they urged Williams in, it wasn't his day. He slipped into the sewer system, the paved floor proving to be slimy and frictionless as the scum on the river. He glanced back to see Donahue and Annabelle still waist deep in the vile river water, waiting for his return, "Remember, once the snipers are taken care of, signal to us, then we can make our approach to the hotel. Okay? Good luck Williams" Donahue waved to his new friend, "Bon Chance mon ami" Annabelle blew Williams a kiss, in a friendly sort of way, and then they closed the sewer hatch. It was up to him now.

Each step he took seemed to need stabilizing before the next one was took. The sewer was so damned unstable. Bits of the walls crumbled to dust when Williams slipped past them, loose stones in the floor also dared to kill his confidence. He kept remembering where Annabelle said the hatch to the hotel was, "second one on the left hand side" his only illumination was from the flames above him that peeked through the grating of the gutters, and that didn't really do him the world of good. He clutched the Welrod tightly in his palm, it was his only weapon, and he did not intend to fail his friends, especially McIntyre.

The hatch to the hotel almost shone out to Williams through the dank sewer gloom. He gently forced it upwards and slid it aside; it was heavier than it looked. Williams heaved himself into the hotel basement and closed the sewer hatch, the smell of the sewers still on him, he felt vomit tickling the back of his throat. He swallowed it and made his way out the basement. According to Annabelle, the snipers were on the top and third floors. Once out the basement, he fumbled in the dark to find the stairs that lead throughout the building. He couldn't really notice the grand sight that the hotel really was by day, as all form of energy had been cut off in the area. He could just make out the sign of the floor on the staircase, by the time he reached what he though was the third floor, Williams sat down to collect himself. He had to kill someone when they weren't looking, just like in the house in S.t. Fredrique du Clamont. And that got him wondering about his wound, he hadn't put his mind to it, but now that he had the retched sting crept back into his arm. He winced and picked himself up. "Just get through this little bit," he told himself, "and then you can have a breather".

Just along the corridor, amongst all the doors leading to suites and bedroom apartments of the hotel, came a chink of light. You wouldn't notice it if you didn't look at it again, but Williams did. The light scraped its way from underneath the doors frame. Williams loaded his pistol, he only had one shot, and it'd better be a good one. He approached the door, taking the time to mop his brow and tighten his grip on the pistol's handle. He ever so carefully prised the door open and took a fleeting look. The German sniper sat on an armchair with assorted furniture covering as much of the window as possible. Only a slither of a gap was visible through the window, and that was the snipers field of view. Williams raised the Welrod and twisted the pin into place. He levelled the sight to the Germans head, closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. The placid click of bolt on round was heard, followed by the lifeless droop of the sniper, bullet in the base of his neck. Not even with a gasp or terminal cry to signal the end of his life. He just died. Williams turned off the gas lamp that had accompanied the sniper in his final hour, then left the room.

Back on the street, Donahue and Annabelle crouched in wait for Williams signal. Annabelle looked unsure of the plans success, "Why did you have to make the plan so risky?" she enquired to Donahue. He flicked his eyes to her and replied, "Once Williams has removed the snipers in the hotel, we make a run for it, if the snipers are feeling lucky, then they will give their positions away for sure, and then we can take them out for good. It's getting two birds with one stone." Annabelle was still bemused by this, "But that's just suicide, I've told you where the snipers are, why take anymore chances?" Donahue seemed to have all the answers but wasn't trying to create an argument, "Look, Williams is a good chap, I have faith in him. If the snipers give their position away, then he can simply put a shot on them and keep their heads down." Annabelle still wasn't convinced. Donahue gave in and admitted his failings, "Fine, fine. I know I have right royally buggered this up, but if it is any consolation, you can make a run first. Both Williams and myself will keep you covered as you reach the hotel. Okay?" She seemed less annoyed by this suggestion and agreed to it.

Williams fitted another round into the Welrod and moved up the stairs. He had to go all the way into the attic of the hotel to reach the final sniper, then he would signal down to Annabelle and Donahue to make their approach. He spied the staircase to the attic and stopped. His wound was acting up again. The sopping red bandage wasn't good to last much longer, and at the rate it was throbbing with pain, he wouldn't be able to hold a rifle steady. He fiercely held the Welrod until his knuckles shot white, then he slinked to the attic to finish what he began. The attic had the vast majority of its roof missing, due to the close radius of the German bombs dropped on the town from several years ago. Huddled in the far corner of the attic squatted the sniper, wrapped in camouflage, glaring down the scope of his rifle, seeking prey. Out of sheer boredom, he squared a round off into a corpse to see it shudder in the wake of the bullet. He chuckled softly to himself at his accomplishment; Williams cursed the German for his sycophantic pleasure. The moon light, coupled with the aura of the fire lit the snipers helmet up to glowing proportions. Williams aimed the pistol once more at the sniper and held his aim firm. The sniper arched his back and yawned tiredly, he had been awake all night and day. He needed a rest. His head rested from his yawn to look directly at Williams on the stairs. Williams fired, the Germans jaw dropped in panic, and he released a squeak of alarm from his throat before the bullet cleaved its way through. Williams emptied the Welrod's chamber and crawled to the snipers corpse, collecting his rifle. The worst was over, now he could relax in the hope his comrades in arms would do their part in this operation.

Donahue noticed Williams signal of waving the final sniper's rifle up high and prepared Annabelle to make a run. She straightened her jacket, readied her rifle, and slung Williams' rifle on her shoulder. Donahue looked down both ends of the street, everything seemed clear, but he still geared up his rifle. Williams was in position overlooking the other side of the street. Donahue looked back to Annabelle and whispered to her, "All ready?" she nodded. Donahue tensed his grip on his rifle. "Go, go, go" Annabelle gathered herself and sprinted across the road to the hotel. Suddenly a sniper opened fire, the bullet skimming along the floor by her feet as she ran, Williams opened fire at the snipers location. Another round went off, this time Donahue took aim and returned fire. Annabelle swung herself inside the hotel lobby and sat down to retake her breath. Donahue cried out to Williams on the hotel roof, "I got one of the bastards!" and indeed he was correct. His shot had connected with another of the German snipers, separating his spine in two. Now only two snipers were left guarding the city from intruders.

Donahue got anxious; he had to make his run now. He loosened his joints up and prepared himself for his dash across the road. Meanwhile, Williams was hastily reloading the German rifle in an apartment on the third floor. Such bloody complicated things, Annabelle had his standard rifle, why hadn't she got up here to give it back to him? The answer was that she had been hit in the leg, that second sniper round had just caught her in her thigh; only now did the dull pain increase in volume. She'd never been shot before. Her vision blurred and the feeling in her fingers began to fuzz. She couldn't find her balance and resorted to crawling up the stairs. No matter how many times she shook her head to steady her vision, it kept blurring and staying out of focus. She reached a window and stuck her rifle out. She had to get Donahue to safety; it was up to her and Williams. Williams had finally loaded the German rifle, when the sniper across the road shot at him. The bullet splintered the glass and sent shards flying in all directions. Williams was showered in minute crystal daggers, some sticking into his back. He cried out in pain and clambered away to another room. That glass was fucking painful. He doctored his back, when he heard the scamper of feet across cobbled road. Williams stuck his head out the window of his new abode and wailed, "Donahue! DON'T!" his words tumbled out too late, and only made things worse. Donahue's head spun to Williams when he heard his plea, when the crack of a sniper rifle catapulted through the midnight streets. The bullet tunnelled a bloody hole through Donahue's chest, and he fell back onto it. His body seemed to spasm, but it was just his arms flailing for his weapon. Donahue aimed his rifle and pelted three rounds into what seemed to be nothing. The thud of a body falling from a second storey building dignified his actions. Williams shook the remaining glass from his back and hurried downstairs to the road where Donahue lay. Annabelle picked herself up from the floor and sluggishly toppled down after him. Williams flung his weapons aside on the street and cradled Donahue, the blood ushering out of an opening in his uniform. There was no hope for him; his face was an ill shade of white and his head lolled on its side. His grip faded and Donahue's rifle clattered to the floor beside him. Annabelle looked on from the door to the hotel, leaning against the doorframe to keep her upright; she saw the distress in Williams eyes. Her stomach turned on itself in guilt and she hobbled back into the hotel, blood squelching in the bottom of her boot.

The final sniper of Renneville perched himself in the most luxurious room of the town hall that overlooked the crescent road. He had no idea what had happened to his comrades, but frankly, he didn't care. He was safe in his nest, and nothing could get to him. Annabelle was inside the hotel, facing the town hall, her rifle unwavering and accurate. The crosshair of her scope targeted in on the snipers forehead. He, unlike the others, refused to wear a helmet. Annabelle just wanted this bastard to die; she needed to find solstice in Donahue's death, to reassure herself that he didn't die for nothing. Her leg quivered, the shock of the bullet still ringing. She glared long and hard at the sniper, so much so that he seemed to notice her, all too late. She fired, the German's head blared open with a splatter of claret. She sat down on the bed and placed her rifle beside her, it was time to rest.


	8. The Procedure

A hushed whisper murmured through the empty town, and all was quiet. The perils of the night slowly began to melt away with the rise of the sun. The dominant entity gradually lifting itself back to its thrown in the sky, one by one stars became consumed by the gathering light of the new day. The eastern king had returned to claim victory on this fresh dawn. The city of Renneville was at peace; the actions of the twilight hour had conspired to an end. The skeleton remains of the town lay bare and bleached in the waking sun, the fires in the rubble nothing but a smoulder and a spark. The bodies of those who had fallen to the city still lay scattered in the streets; nothing could be done to alter where they rested. Only two shapes dared to adorn the roads, one single British paratrooper, and his French colleague.

Williams stood and stared at the body of Donahue, immobile and helpless. Annabelle walked up to Williams tenderly; she had checked the area for any remaining German activity, there was none. She hobbled next to him, placed one hand on his shoulder, and said, "Where do we go from here?" Williams dropped his head slightly and sighed, "We'll give Donahue a proper send-off once we get to the church and establish contact with the rest of the lads. Until then, we leave him here." Annabelle slid her hand from Williams' shoulder and slumped down, she began to weep. Williams looked down at her, puzzled, "What's wrong?" She lifted her head, tears staining her gentle face with streaks of guilt, "It's my fault," she bawled, "I let Donahue die…" Williams sat down to comfort her, when she continued her plea, "I wasn't fast enough, I could've taken out that sniper, but he shot me" Williams face stopped all of a sudden. He lowered his eyes to Annabelle's thigh. True to her word, a crimson stain on her leg dripped blood onto the pavement. "Is it bad?" he enquired. She gingerly got up and examined it; the bullet was sunk deep into the flesh in her leg, blood meandering down it. She winced and wiped away the tears from her face. Williams picked her up and swung her arm over his shoulder, "Hope they've got a medic in that bleedin' church"

Williams dragged Annabelle through the streets, a lengthy trail of blood charting their journey. The church stood proud at the far end of the road, looking down back onto the main roads and rural pathways of Normandy. Its architecture was like no other in the town; it stood out like a rose among weeds. At the back of the church rose the bell tower, so high it felt like piercing the clouds and breaking into heaven to meet the lord. Williams pulled Annabelle towards it, "Just a little further," he kept whispering into her ear, "just a little further"

An indistinct cry was heard from the bell tower, and the main doors to the church creaked wide. Williams hauled Annabelle inside and sat down on the tiled floor, he had to rest. It was now that he began to notice his rescuers. All throughout the church, soldiers made themselves known, peeking out behind statues, scampering down stairs, or getting up from kneeling at a pew. One soldier stepped forward to greet Williams; the doors still wide open, letting the morning light to sweep in. He shook Williams hand, "Glad to see another one of our lads made it through the gauntlet. We've been stuck here for days without any sign of reinforcements, or any sign of anyone that is," he chortled slightly at his statement, "Name's Captain Winslow, I took command of these brave chaps when their captain got sniped by those god awful German bastards. The rest of the men here are good fighters, I'm lucky they survived the insertion and the town itself." He realised what he had just been talking about, then suddenly remembered the point of the conversation. "Oh, I'm sorry, and your name is?" Williams straightened himself up, "Private Edward Williams, the lady over there is a French resistance operative, Annabelle" Captain Winslow looked to the near-comatose woman, groaning in agony. "Oh" he replied. Williams continued his recount of events, "I and Sergeant James McIntyre were to rendezvous here with a squad of men, prepared to hold the city. Are you them?" Several soldiers from the back of the church shouted to Williams, "Aye, that's us!" Williams breathed a sigh of relief; things were back on schedule.

It was then that the Captain's name registered with Williams, "Winslow" Williams turned to him and asked, "You weren't part of this unit were you?" Winslow chuckled slightly and responded, "Well, actually no. You see, my squad miss-dropped, I was fortunate enough to find these fellows, so now I'm helping them out." Williams thought of a million things to say, but was silenced by the horror of Donahue's body flashing in his mind. He shook his head and walked with the Captain around the church, "I've found your men" he said. Winslow looked delighted; his eyes sparked and ignited his face with glee. A cheery grin spread across his face, "You have? That's great! How are they? Hope Finlay hasn't been too annoying, oh and Donahue, is he still the scrawny little beggar he was when we dropped in? Oh, I can't wait to see them all again!" Williams took off his helmet and looked ashamed, his eyes traced the ecstatic movements of Winslow until he noticed the way Williams was staring at him. There was no other way to say it, "I'm afraid Donahue and Finlay are dead" Winslow's actions died. He looked to Williams for and explanation, "Finlay was killed trying to eliminate a half-track commander, and Donahue died saving us from the snipers in this very city" Winslow stared into nothingness and sat himself down at a pew, his head in his hands.

Williams put his helmet back on and got back to the matter at hand. He scanned the area then cried out, "Is there a medic in here?" A lowly average-looking young man emerged from the gloom of the church, his child eyes looking up to Williams. Williams approached him, "Can you help my lady friend?" he gestured toward Annabelle who was still in deep agony and pain. The man crept to her and examined her wound. Blood attracted to his fingers and he rolled up his sleeves, "It's pretty bad, but it's nothing I wasn't trained to do" Annabelle whimpered to Williams, "Don't leave, please" tears welling back into her perfect eyes. Williams turned back to her and gripped her hand, "I don't intend to" The medic opened his kit bag and removed an assortment of tools and medicines, firstly he got out a morphine injection and checked to make sure its safety. Williams propped Annabelle against the wall of the church, a station of the cross above their heads, 'Jesus falls a second time'. Williams helped the medic gather his things and kept a hold of Annabelle's hand, her grip squeezing the blood from his knuckles up into his wound, which wept slightly. The medic took the morphine injection and drove it into her leg, the drug gently seeping into her system. He then produced a thin metal instrument and put it into Annabelle's wound, she sobbed a bit more. The medic rummaged around, blood dribbling from the gaping hole in her leg. With a minor clink of metal on metal, the bullet was found and the medic flicked it out into his hand. He peered into the bleeding gap and made his final statement, "Well, we were lucky. That bullet just missed an artery, I'll have her patched up and ready to fight in a day or so" he saw the crude attempt of medicine on Williams arm, "And maybe I could see to that to, looks nasty" Williams turned his injury away from the medic in defence to his request. "Thanks" Williams cheered, the medic smiled to himself and wiped his hands clean of Annabelle's blood, "I'm Private Craig Earnings, nice to meet you Williams"

Williams went to check on his wounded comrade, she had a perfect bandage wrapped tightly around her thigh where she had been hurt; she looked up to Williams and said, "I cannot thank you enough." Williams felt giggly inside but remained calm on his exterior and said, "It's nothing really, you would have done the same for me" She tittered to herself and agreed. Williams looked back outside to see the sun reach a decent place in the sky, "I'd better go and get the others" he said to Annabelle, "you stay here and keep still. I'll be back before you know it." "Wait," she stopped him before he could fully stand up, "I want to tell you something," Williams crouched back down so he was at head height with her. "Yes?" he asked. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him as passionately as she could. Williams fell back, totally surprised by this. He got up and bid her farewell for now. Annabelle watched as the man she loved went once more into the unsure open of the Normandy countryside.


	9. Stolen Goods

The fields were still gaping in awe at the events prior to this morning. The still empty streets of Renneville showed no signs of activity for the past few days, it lied to itself. The smouldering heaps of buildings basked in the growing sunrise and crisp morning air. It was if nothing would have dared happen to spoil the scene. The trees hummed a soft tune to themselves and stood idle for a breeze to whisk them back to life and wave to the corpse of a town overlooking the river. Light broke through the building husks splitting shadows through the streets, just like the last night but with a radiance that reflected off the roads and blinded those unwary enough to look away. Truly, the remains of this town were a spectacle to behold in the morning light. Over one of the bridges to Renneville lurked three men, they kept out of sight, yet wanted to be seen. These men were the remaining majority of several sections of the British airborne who had dropped into Normandy to serve a valuable purpose to the war effort. And now they waited…

McIntyre looked through his binoculars once more, still no sight of Williams. He put the binoculars back around his neck and turned to his remaining teammates, "If push comes to shove, then we're going to have to go into Renneville on high alert. If Williams, Annabelle, and Donahue are in fact K.I.A then we seriously need to re-think our tactics…" As his speech rambled on, Miller saw a near microscopic figure appear from around the corner of the street. He blurted out, "I think it's Williams" McIntyre swung around to see his best friend jog across the bridge toward their position. McIntyre stood up and shook his mates hand, "Long time no see, eh? Good to see you Williams, bloody good to see you" Johnson slung his Sten over his left shoulder and enquired, "Where are the others? Are they okay?" Williams had no sooner drawn breath than he had the urge to vomit forth the truth about their friends, "Annabelle's hit, but she's recovering in the church with the other folks who we were supposed to meet up with yesterday." Miller took Johnson's stance on questioning the poor lad on the nights adventures, "And Donahue? Is he still chipper?" Williams scraped away stale saliva from his parched lips and coughed his response, "Donahue's dead" Millers face curled up and contorted into a shrivelled mess of sorrow. Johnson turned back to the trees and leaned his head against it; the news had just ground his spirit into dust and ash. McIntyre saw the state the other two men were in and saw no need in staying here any longer, "Come on lads, time to de-brief with the rest of the chaps in the church" He loaded his Sten and took off.

The streets of Renneville were still respectfully eerie, even in daylight, and you could see the fear swell in Johnson's eyes. Williams slunk next to Miller and began to quell the silence that had taken the men ever since he broke the news of their fallen comrade, "Tell you what's odd" he started, "Annabelle kissed me earlier today" Miller twisted his head to Williams. "Never" he protested, Williams insisted she did, "I'm telling you, she kissed me. I was as surprised as you" Miller looked quite impressed of Williams "achievement" It was then that Johnson snapped at Williams, "Hey! Don't have romance in war! It always leads to bad things! Like that thing in Naples, you remember Miller." Miller did, "Yeah, heard this before we shipped out to invade Italy. Some German sentry fell in love with an Italian bird. He wanted to see her before he left for the beachhead to defend against the invasion, in doing so he let some lads drop in at night and raid a town. They found him trying to give her 'a good seeing to', and shot him. Stupid bugger didn't know what hit him." Williams gulped, everyone was reading too much into this, "But…but, but I didn't want to kiss her. She was probably dithering on morphine or something, I don't know" McIntyre looked back to the men and gave them his piece of mind, "Listen, lads, if Williams has himself a girl, then leave him be. So what if she's fighting alongside us? It doesn't bother me. Just remember Williams," he came close to him as he said this, almost touching pupil to pupil, "It's not a mission priority if she's a casualty. We've already suffered two, I don't want to lose another, but if we do then you can't go overboard if it happens to be your girl. Just remember that"

The soldiers in the church were still lazing around in the morning sun, not getting up to much, when the four men turned around the street to walk up to the church, only one gathered the strength to greet them. It was Captain Winslow. He moved from his chair placed just outside the church doors to the men, now only a few meters away. He greeted his remaining section members with unparalleled relief, "Thank Christ you're okay. When I heard about Finlay and Donahue I almost died in guilt." Miller looked embarrassed and responded to his long lost commander, "Well, we can't take all the credit for surviving this long, me and Johnson owe a lot to Sergeant McIntyre and Private Williams. Without their help we'd have been lost somewhere in Normandy and have never found you." Winslow looked to McIntyre and Williams, Williams looked away and slinked off inside the church, McIntyre called after him, "You rest hard Williams, you've done a lot for us". Winslow shook McIntyre's hand heartily, "Nice to finally meet you Sergeant" McIntyre returned the compliment, "The pleasure's all mine Captain" McIntyre looked to the church and took Winslow inside.

"Listen Captain," he started, "I need to talk to you about the matters at hand." Winslow acknowledged and took McIntyre to the small room behind the altar of the church. The room was dank and had aged badly. Slim strips of wood were clearly visible through the crudely plastered walls that flaked on passing. Winslow lit a candle to illuminate the room enough so that he could clearly make out McIntyre's face. "Well Captain, for starters do you really know why these men are here?" Winslow shook his head. "Well sir, despite being extremely under strength we need to defend this town against German advances through this region of Normandy. This town is one of many important bridge locations across the length of Normandy. Some Americans have another one deep in German territory, if we can keep the Gerries at bay for long enough for reinforcements to relieve both them and us, then we will safely hold major tactical standpoints throughout the northern part of France. Also it can give a squad of Americans the chance to find one of their lads gone M.I.A." Winslow looked unsure, "What type of advance are we talking about here?" McIntyre knew the odds were grim, but continued, "My guess is about a platoon of Germans with tank and halftrack support." Winslow widened his yes at the prospect of this, "A whole fucking platoon of Germans? Jesus, what do they take us for? Juggernauts?" McIntyre thought of the positive to keep their hopes up, "We can do it Captain, just tell me what you have to offer in the way of weapons and defences"

Williams stood in the archway of the church doors, leaning slightly towards the wall. Sitting on a pew showing three soldiers, including Private Earnings, the functions of a German rifle was Annabelle. Williams stopped and sighed, it had just dawned on him now that he really loved her back, but if anyone else found out it'd just fuel their suspicions of what was going on. Miller peered over Williams' shoulder, "You're a lucky man Williams. A lucky, lucky man." Williams looked back to Miller who stood there with a grinning sentimental smile on his face. "What do you mean Miller?" Williams answered. Miller laughed to himself and glanced to the floor, then back to Williams, "I've seen the way you stare at her. You love her, and I'm happy for you too mate. I didn't believe it at first, but to be honest, as long as someone benefits from this war, that I know, then good luck to you." Miller put his hand on Williams' shoulder and shook Williams' hand with his other. Williams decided to delve into Miller's life, not really knowing much about him anyway, "So, you said you dropped into Italy?" Miller looked astonished, no one ever really asked him about his life before, and was intrigued to go on. "Well, since you asked, yeah, the whole section dropped in." he sat down on one of the pews inside the church and gestured for Williams to sit with him. He continued, "We didn't really know Donahue then, he was our pathfinder if you will. We were all so new and naïve to the war experience," he began to chuckle in his speech, "I remember, Finlay lost his Bren, so Winslow told us to find a new one for him. Me and Finlay rummaged through this corpse of a soldier, when a German officer stood up and said something like 'What are you people doing? We're not supposed to rob the bodies till the invasion's over' He thought we were his soldiers" He laughed a bit more, "When he realised we weren't, Winslow had already crept up behind him and knocked him out cold. Silly bugger." His tears of laughter stopped rolling, and he reminisced some more, "It was horrendous though I'll tell you that, not as bad as this, but still fairly awful. The heat made the bodies stink before a single day was out. The army definitely picked a cracking time to go invading." Miller rocked himself back and forth at his memories, like an aging old man on his rocking chair, keeping warm at winter by the crackling fireplace.

Williams looked outside to see Johnson sitting down in the dirt and debris with his head in his hands looking utterly distraught to say the least. This started to get to Williams, so he asked, "What's the deal with Johnson? He's so bloody pessimistic" Miller gave Williams a scolding stare, "I wouldn't say those things if I were you mate, Johnson's been through a lot." Williams was fascinated, "Like what? Not that I want to pry too much" Miller felt obliged to tell him, "Johnson came into Italy with his brother, he was a nice chap, much like Johnson but thinner and with lighter hair, when we regrouped in a nearby villa Johnson's brother got shot in the back by a German scout. He blamed the section for not noticing sooner that the villa was still under surveillance by the Krauts, never really took anyone's word since then. Every now and then, he thinks back to then and loses the will to fight, knowing that his little brother won't be home waiting for him when the war's over. It's damn upsetting" Williams jaw slumped and hung loosely from his head, he was taken completely by surprise. He needed to know more, "But when we were in the village, he seemed fine. He helped me with my wound." The sore gave a twinge at its mention, and drooled some more blood down Williams' arm. "Well, he might seem a bit of an odd sort from time to time, but he is genuinely a great chap." Williams still had one final question to ask, "So then why did he just have a go at me a minute ago?" Miller stretched his back and yawned, "Don't you know? I thought it was pretty obvious" Williams looked uncompromisingly at Miller, "Well it's not. What is it?" Miller took a fleeting glance to Annabelle, then back to Williams who was still unaware, "I'll let you figure it out mate" and with that he picked up his things and went to see the rest of the soldiers.

Captain Winslow took McIntyre to a corner of the main church building; in it were several wooden crates with an arrangement of differing weapons on it. Winslow scratched the back of his neck and began to explain their assembled inventory, "Well Sergeant, we have two 42's, a 34, six antipersonnel mines, two antitank mines, a cache of twenty stick grenades, and each lad is carrying their weapon with five clips, a sidearm, and two grenades each." McIntyre looked disappointed at the assembled arsenal, "We'd be pretty buggered against those tanks. You sure you don't have any antitank grenades, or something?" Winslow suddenly sparked his memory, "We do have two German antitank grenades, pretty powerful things too. AND Jacobs got his mitts on a German rocket launcher with a few rounds in it, he keeps it with him at all times for some reason or another." McIntyre's smile slowly returned from its hiding place that it had resided in for many days, "Can you lads make some Molotov's?" Winslow ordered two of the men, "Peterson, Rush, go to the hotel and make some Molotov's for the Sergeant would you? And be quick about it" both soldiers accepted their job and scurried off to their task. "You know McIntyre," Winslow thought aloud, "Your plan could work, it just might."


	10. Plan in Action

The clouds darted across the sky, although the wind kept as still as it could to ease the summer day, the ethereal forms leapt across the sky, weaving in and around the dormant sun. It had been hours since the dawn had blistered awake and the earth became restless in the afternoon heat. The trees sagged in exhaustion and the grass sweated a pale dew over itself. The shade of a passing cloud would render those basking in the sun shielded, if only for a moment. The eastern king was gloating his power to those unfortunate enough to be its victims. This lay day purred a pleasant soothing hum that drifted the slumbering animals in the surrounding forests of Renneville safely into sleep. Inside the city though, preparations had been made for a battle, one that would alter the course of the war, only six people remained unused in the groundwork; four British paratroops from the region of St Frederique u Clamont, a French markswoman, and the captain of a long lost squad whom he had recently reacquainted himself with.

Captain Winslow inspected the remaining soldiers who had crawled through hell and back just to be there with him. He could see the fatigue on their faces and knew the inevitable; this was going to be tough. Despite this, he straightened himself up proudly and gave the men their final orders, "Okay folks, this is the last waltz. Once you go to your positions, there's not much to turn back to. However, if your location becomes compromised and you need somewhere to escape to, then pull back to this church. It shall provide beneficial cover, and Phillips has the 34 set up for covering fire," Lieutenant Phillips waved down to his brothers in arms from the church bell tower, the heavy machinegun tightly in his arms. Winslow continued to brief the remaining men, "Miller, I want you to scout ahead and check the position of the oncoming German horde, use McIntyre's binoculars if you want," McIntyre removed his binoculars and handed them to Miller, who immediately swung them around his neck. Winslow gestured to Miller to move on, and he did so, swiftly scuttling down the cobbled road to the opposite side of the bridges.

He then turned to Annabelle, who every now and then peeked at her leg wound and nursed it with comforting inspection. "Miss Annabelle," he began, "your position is to take the role of lead sniper on top of the hotel. The sniper that was there previously there must've been some sort of a signal bearer, you must disguise yourself as him and lure the Germans into a false sense of security. It is crucial that the Germans fall into our trap, you are the key in them doing so." She looked to Williams who was looking into his boots, hoping to see a reflection but failing to see any spot of boot not encrusted in dirt and mud. She moved up to him and held his face close to hers; "In case I never see you again" she whimpered to him, then kissed him again. She readied her rifle and limped slightly to her destination. Johnson stared a burning hole into Williams.

Winslow then addressed Johnson and Williams, "You two," both stood in attention to the Captain, "I want you to go to the bakers overlooking the hotel. Carter should have set up the detonator for the mine on the main road. When the tank crosses it, hit the detonator and pray it does some damage. Williams, you use the detonator, Johnson keep him covered." Johnson grumbled a curse beneath his breath and spat a little onto Williams' shoe. Williams acknowledged Captain Winslow's order and set off, Johnson followed suit, but with less determination, pessimism crushing his every move into bottled envy.

All that was left was McIntyre and Winslow. McIntyre looked about at the vacancy around him and pondered, "What do I do?" Winslow walked up to McIntyre and informed him of his next duties, "McIntyre, I want you to find Jacobs in the town hall. Give him all the covering fire he needs, he is the most important element in our tank resistance. He is the only one who knows how to operate the rocket launcher. I can't stress this enough, KEEP HIM ALIVE" McIntyre nodded in agreement, his task was difficult but he could do it, for the sake of the mission. Then it crossed his mind, "What are you going to do sir?" Winslow turned to McIntyre and plainly said, "I'm going to win the war."

Miller slowed his pace down as he reached the other side of the bridge, he could still vaguely hear Captain Winslow waffling on to the others about their positions. He ambled his way to a large collection of bushes and foliage that obscured the path up ahead and stopped. He clambered down to crawl and wriggled his way across the sweaty summer grass into the bushes. Miller removed the binoculars from around his neck and peered through them. Not a distance away thundered the booming growl of metal track on churned dirt road. Undeviating across the horizon came the dust clouds of the second storm, followed by the seemingly endless ranks of metal and men. Miller dropped the binoculars and fled from the bushes, his feet falling over the other. He slipped and dropped to the ground, his face connecting first. Miller kept running back to the town, panic robbing his legs of substance and structure. His misfortunate retreat caught the attention of Phillips, gently resting in the church's bell tower, he saw the grief stricken Miller flee for his life, so he called to those below, "GERMANS! COMING IN FAST FROM THE EAST!" Word quickly spread across town, alertness springing from fatigue like the blossom of a flower ripe in bloom from its bud. Time was drawing to a close.

Over in the bakers, Johnson and Williams huddled over the counter, the detonator to the mines in white grip of Williams. Now they could hear the resounding hum of tank engines from over the trees and pathways. Williams sensed the fear growing inside him like a cancer, he yearned to cut it out and continue his task. Johnson glared at Williams, his Sten resting gently in his arms. He leaned into Williams and whispered to him, "Why'd you do it Williams?" Williams looked to him, "What? Shut up, I'm in the middle of something" Johnson was determined to get his answer, "why did you take her from me?" Williams was perplexed, "I don't know what you mean" Johnson looked him directly into his eyes and began to raise his voice, "You know hat I've been through you selfish git! Don't take my last chance of happiness away from me!" He raised his Sten to Williams' throat while Williams choked in protest, "I don't know what you want from me, please stop…" his voice became crated as the Sten's latch dug into his throat. Johnson snarled at Williams, "You just had to go and fuck everything up didn't you? I trusted you in the village, and THIS is how you repay me! By stealing the love of my life from me!" Williams managed to push the Sten from his throat and gasp out, "I didn't mean for anything to happen, please forgive me" Johnson kept applying the weapon to block off Williams' air when he came to his senses. Over the past argument, the sound of the approaching Germans had gradually risen in volume, but so slightly that you would not notice if you hadn't been paying attention to the impending doom. The tanks were now crossing the bridges into Renneville, and Johnson saw the nose of the tank's cannon peeking around the corner. He fell back off Williams, his body shrivelled in panic. Williams looked over the baker's counter to see the steel behemoth trundle by. He picked up the detonator, twisted the plunger and forced it down.

The following explosion shook the entirety of the street, walls crumbling to dust in the blast. The Germans using the tank as a huge moving piece of cover were catapulted back in a flurry of flames and blood. The tank itself propelled several feet in the air then plunged back to earth with a responsive detonation. Fire and twisted, charcoaled metal was scattered everywhere, dread slinked its way through the mass of remaining Germans as they dared not venture further, but curiosity tempted their weak minds to enter the street. Both sides of the town's entrance had buckled and fallen into itself. The baker's on the left-hand side was demolished. Smoke and filth sputtered out from the wreckage, then all was quiet once more in the town of Renneville, the tension tightening the hearts of the British soldiers within.


	11. Storm in the City

The plumes of smoke and flame reached deep into the heart of the sky and plucked at its tendons. The hazy orange hue glowed from the sparking debris of the German tank. Bodies decorated the floor, partly covered in the substance of the surrounding buildings. All was at a standstill. No one dared move. The gathering tower of smoke could be seen for miles around, and the Germans knew it. Like a battalion of ants, they slowly poured through the debris and rubble of the mouth of the town and entered the waiting trap. Eyes beaded down weapons sights, searching for answers to the explosion, the intent to kill erupting in their eyes. The British soldiers inside the town were still in wait for the opportune moment to strike from their concealed positions. The midday sun grew increasingly interested of the activity in the town and leaned in for a closer look. Each second grated by in anticipation for the attack.

Privates Benton and Ridley were stationed in the lofty remains of an apartment building overlooking the main road. Benton kept a tight grip on the MG42, Ridley ready as ever with the ammunition by his side. AS soon as the first German plodded into view Benton loosened his back and took aim. Ridley squeezed his friends shoulder, "Not yet you stupid twat," he scolded, "wait till more of them come into view, then shoot" Benton acknowledged and resumed the watch of the amassing German troops. It took a few moments, but soon about fifteen Germans were assembled in the street, the exact same number as the British troops guarding the town. Benton looked back to Ridley to ask him about what he should do next. Silently his friend gave the order. Benton quickly turned back to his weapon sight and fired.

Bullets peppered onto the street from all directions. First it was Benton and Ridley, then Markson and Rush opened fire from their position. The Germans in the street were pounded down by the sheer force of that many machine gun rounds. However, more soldiers entered through the rubble of the bakers and returned fire onto the two machine gunners. Bullets sizzled through the air sparking off the walls they collided with. Next, the soldiers in the bottom of the hotel began to fire, Carter, Peterson, and Miller. All three men sent volley after volley of rifle rounds at the Germans, driving them back. The bullets pinged off and around the fallen vehicle and the dead Germans. Annabelle had taken sanctity in the higher levels of the hotel. The resounding crack of a well-targeted shot marked her entry to the battle.

Inside the ruin of the bakers came a yelp of pain. It was Johnson. The explosion had directed shards of metal and masonry into his legs. Like a wounded animal crawling for help, he clambered his way from beneath the debris. The entire front of the building had collapsed. There was no way out. Beside him lay Williams; he was regaining conscience too. Johnson stretched out to Williams for support, his fingertips just scraping at Williams' shoulder. Williams brought himself up and looked to Johnson, his legs were horrifically mangled, blood seeping from all manners of gashes and openings in his legs. "Jesus fucking Christ, Williams!" He sobbed, "It hurts so much! Get me out of here!" tears galloped down his face, and Williams took another look at Johnson. This wasn't the man who had tried to kill him only moments before; this was just like any other poor fellow unfortunate enough to be a victim to this war. Williams grabbed Johnson's hand, "Don't worry about a thing," he said comfortingly to Johnson; "I'm going to get you the hell out of here" He hauled Johnson's helpless body onto his shoulders and made for the stairs at the back of the bakers.

Over in the Town Hall, McIntyre lurked with Jacobs. They had heard the not too distant gun fight, but kept their position inside the mayor's office. Jacobs wanted to go out and support his comrades in the battle, but he was held back by the guiding hand of McIntyre. "Only open fire when more tank support arrives, only you can break those tanks, private." Jacobs looked at McIntyre, his face was of grim determination and he too longed to save his brothers from peril. McIntyre's ears pricked to the trundle of more tanks coming to the town. "Here they come Jacobs," he said eagerly, "I'll give you cover and you make a break for that red car over there" he pointed to the hollowed red skeleton of a car that had a perfect view onto the entrance of the town. Without further hesitation, McIntyre and Jacobs sprang from the building to the vehicle and prepared themselves. Dust floated in from the approaching tank's tracks. McIntyre flickered his eyes from one place to the other to keep his friend covered, "Fire!" he yelled, and Jacobs shot. The rocket whirled and propelled through the air with a choreographed sense of freedom. The shell collided into the tanks side armour and resulted in a fiery cascade. The monster spluttered its final word, and gave up on its owners, smoke and sparks choked from the open hatch, sending the vehicles occupants aflame into the open street. McIntyre gave a short burst from his Sten taking what was left down in a smatter of bullets. McIntyre congratulated his companion on expert marksmanship, then they dashed over to the flanking side of the hotel in search of more tanks.

On the opposite approach, Captain Winslow and Private Earnings were cramped inside a bombed-out building, waiting for the remaining German tanks to roll into the next trap. Both soldiers lay in wait for their foes, but nothing came. Earnings kept glancing back to the sounds of battle over by the hotel, couldn't they help their fellow soldiers fend off the German approach? Winslow looked menacingly at Earnings who said, "Sir, why is it only us two defending this approach? Shouldn't we have had at least Markson and Rush…" Winslow ignored his whimpering colleague and stared back to the road access, still no sign of the Germans. "Blast," cursed Winslow, "If they aren't here then this plan is done for!" His words didn't fall on deaf ears. No sooner had he murmured this did a German half track screech around the corner. Winslow dived for the detonator and hammered the plunger home. The vehicle roared and combusted in a golden spout of fire and delight. Winslow laughed and cheered his achievement, only to be dashed asunder. A heavy German tank thundered past the wreckage of the half track, completely ignoring it. This was no obstacle for the heavy King Tiger Tank of Germany's elite Panzer divisions. Winslow ordered to Earnings, "Get Jacobs and McIntyre! I'll do what I can!" without wanting to doubt the power of his commander, Earnings scurried to the heavy street fight at the hotel to seek aid. As he ran past the road, the tank opened fire with its heavy cannon, obliterating an entire building with a single shell. Showered in debris, stone and mortar, Earnings kept running to McIntyre and Jacobs. The tank now swerved its turret to aim at the soldiers in the hotel. "BASTARDS!" hollered Winslow, who then hurled his anti-tank grenade onto the tank. The tiny bundle of explosives plonked gently onto the roof of the King Tiger Tank. The grenade birthed a monumental explosion that vomited a surge of metal, offal, and iron. Winslow gave a sigh of relief from his rubble-encased position.

The smoke from the first tank wreckage was now a wall of black filth. The Germans were firing blindly into it, and the British were blindly firing out of it. Bullets skimmed and cracked off walls and roads. Annabelle began to fire erratically, she couldn't find a target through the smoke, she flinched every time a shot whizzed near her. She mopped her brow and panicked. Although she could not find a soldier to target, she saw something else instead. Over the river squatted a tank, its cannon aimed directly at the hotel. Annabelle dropped her rifle and fled down the staircase. The tank shell ripped through the upper floors of the hotel and sent the building crumbling down. Wood, stone, brick, plaster, all coughed and wheezed with demise as its form fell to ash. Annabelle ran for her life, the tumbling building kicking at the heels of her boots. She kept on running down and down into the basement. Miller, Peterson, and Carter saw her plummet into the basement, "What the fucking hell's going on!" asked Carter. Annabelle crawled to the sewer grate, "Please, sirs, get in. there is not much time!" the ceiling buckled under the weight of the fallen building. Carter turned to face Annabelle and scoffed, "No way, I'm staying here and fighting those bastards one at a time" A bullet zipped into the back of his neck whilst he had his back turned. Carter hit the floor, spitting up blood from his cold blue lips. "SHIT!" exclaimed Peterson, "Carter!" Miller saw that Annabelle had a plan, and knew what had to be done, "Peterson, take the Molotov's and follow Annabelle. You're a better thrower than me, you go. I'll stay here" Peterson began to sob uncontrollably, "But...b…but that's just suicide. Don't leave me Josef…Carter's dead, don't die." Miller crouched down to his troubled friend, "I'll fight so you can make it out of this mess alive. Now go!" Peterson grabbed the bag of Molotov's and entered the sewer. Annabelle took one last look at Miller, "He loves you," he said to Annabelle, "don't leave him behind". She shed a tear and closed the sewer hatch after her. Miller stood up and looked through the small hatches overlooking the roads from where he had been shooting earlier. The Germans kept pouring in; there wasn't any stopping them. Their bodies mounted from the machine guns, but now some began to break free and advance further. Miller aimed and squeeze a round into one of them, he fell without pause. Repeatedly Miller fired, bringing his opponents to their knees. He stopped to reload and take cover. A single soldier had made his way into the rubble of the hotel and saw Miller. The German fired. Five molten beads of metal burst into Miller's side, and he wailed in agony. Bullets dotted across the basement floor, splashing dust and dirt in the air. Miller dragged himself away to finish loading his weapon. Swiftly Miller drew his sidearm and emptied a bullet into the German's face as soon as he came into view, the blood blared over the wall behind him, and the body collapsed down the remaining stairs. Miller examined his wounds and prodded them. Blood gurgled and dripped from the several machine pistol rounds to his side. Miller groaned and held his aching ribs. The last thing he heard was the safety catch of a German rifle being pulled back right next to his head.

Earnings had flew back in recoil to the hotel's demolition, and was horrified at the snap of a German rifle from within the remaining complex. He scurried into the Town Hall, his gaze bouncing back and forth from the walls. He couldn't see anybody. Several German bodies lay crumpled on the floor, he tiptoed through them, the sound of the machineguns kept buzzing in the background. A weapon clicked in readiness next to his forehead, "S…S…S-Sergeant," Earnings stammered, McIntyre lowered his gun, "The Captain needs your assistance, we all have to pull back to the church immediately. This side of the town has fallen. We have to go now" McIntyre was perplexed at his superiors choice of command. He scratched his head, "Alright then…I suppose. C'mon Jacobs, let's get the hell out of here" Private Jacobs descended the stairs to the higher floors of the Town Hall and followed McIntyre. He looked around the outsides of the town, rubble and death littered the streets, the machineguns hadn't stopped since the Germans had entered. With one last fleeting look around their area, McIntyre assembled his fellow soldiers and leapt into the streets. All three men sprinted down the road, bullets catapulting around their feet from the slowly advancing Germans. "DON'T STOP!" bellowed McIntyre, "KEEP GOING!" Jacobs began wheezing and slowing down from the other two. A stray rifle round span into his heel and Jacobs dived to the floor. McIntyre halted to see his friend dragging his broken self slowly forward. Earnings too stopped, only to hear McIntyre yell, "You keep going, I'll sort out Jacobs!" Earnings did as he was told and ran back to the church. McIntyre picked up his fallen comrade and turned him around, "You can do it, you're not badly hurt" he reassured him. Jacobs gurgled his plea to McIntyre, "Don't let me die, don't let me die, don't let me die, don't let me die" McIntyre put a tight grip on Jacob's wrists and dragged him down the road. The machine gunners were starting to loose their ammo, the flow of bullets eddying slightly. The Germans came in force now, their numbers swelling to an improbable amount. The bullets came at McIntyre and Jacobs with demented purpose and one grazed the side of McIntyre's leg. He slumped and looked to his wound, there was barely any blood coming from it, so he kept on dragging his friend. McIntyre reached the corner of the road and pulled Jacobs round, "We did it, home stretch now Jacobs…Jacobs?" he gazed at his dead acquaintance. Three gushing bullet holes had torn into Jacob's chest as McIntyre had dragged him. He pounded the chest of Jacobs howling, "DAMN YOU! FUCK!" blood leaped from the swollen bullet wounds and splashed onto McIntyre, gently spraying him in a fine mist. He could obviously hear the gathering symphony of tanks and soldiers, and pulled the rocket launcher from Jacobs dead claws. McIntyre took the remaining rockets from Jacobs pack and shouted down the street, "PULL BACK TO THE CHURCH!" he lumbered the rest of the way with the heavy weapon in hand, tears sliding down his face.

All the while this had gone on, Williams and Johnson had been sitting in the higher levels of the bakers, pondering what to do. Johnson groaned and coughed up a portion of blood, "Jesus, we're going to die aren't we Williams?" Williams ignored his dying brother and examined the second floor of the bakers. He could make out the weakness of the neighbouring wall to the next building along, "Johnson," he said, "don't hate me for this" Williams ran and hit the wall with his shoulder and upper arm. His wound moaned and smeared blood against the wall. The partition huffed and crumbled into dust. Williams had a plan to escape the bakers, and he grabbed Johnson. He carried Johnson into the next building and did the same for the next wall, this one needing slightly more attention than the other. He winced from the gathering pain of his wound. Blood collected on the wall and his arm, and now the blood began to flow down his arm with carefree abandon. Williams kept charging through the buildings until he reached one with safe distance from the Germans and a flight of stairs leading down. He shuddered to a halt and lost balance. Williams had lost a lot of blood and he felt it cry down his arm. Still persistent as ever, he lugged Johnson through the buildings to the stairs and put him downstairs. Each step gained in concentration to keep it steady, Williams was in no shape to fight, not with his amount of blood loss. He looked out the window of the building to see McIntyre, Jacobs and Earnings run from the Town Hall. He cried out to them, but his voice was too weak to be heard. Johnson began to rouse his voice and said to Williams, "Look, Williams…I'm sorry for the way I acted. Its not your fault, I…" he stopped to blot out the pain of his legs, "I don't care anymore. Annabelle would never love me, I'm just going to accept that before I die." Williams snapped to his friend, "Don't say that! You're going to make it out of here. Have faith." He looked back outside to see the amassing Germans almost swamp the machinegun emplacements. One of them threw a grenade high up into the buildings rafters. The explosion threw out Ridley and Benton onto the concrete floor; they opened fire at their bodies to check if they had survived the explosion and the fall. "Bastards," hissed Williams, "if we go out there, they'll surely kill us." He peeked around the building and saw his final salvation, as if we wouldn't have had any more lucky chances today. A side door that lead through the alleys and streets of Renneville stood to his left. He picked up Johnson and dragged him once more across the floor, blood trailing a hideous streak behind him. "There's hope yet Johnson," encouraged Williams, "there's always hope". The battle dragged on through the emptying streets of Renneville to its ultimate destination, where the remaining soldiers of four sections of her majesties armed forces had hastily retreated. Ten men against half a platoon of German stormtroopers.


	12. The Last Bastion

McIntyre looked about him, they still hadn't cleaned the streets of bodies from the previous days incidents, the rotting flesh rasping in the air alongside him. It was unbearable. He looked up to the church tower to see his friend Phillips empty a volley of machinegun fire at the oncoming German rabble. Their worst fear had arisen; the Germans had pushed them back to the brink of their defences, and now they were gently teetering over the cliff face. McIntyre hobbled through the church doors and pushed them ajar, so that he had sufficient cover. From the small windows to the sides of the main door stood Earnings and Captain Winslow, they were hastily firing round after round at the Germans, their bodies flailing wildly with each rifle round that connected with them. Earnings face gradually became more and more panicked and distorted, fear making sure he loaded each round into his weapon. Winslow looked back to Miller and barked at him, "Get up and shoot them! Shoot the Nazi bastards!" McIntyre groggily heaved himself up and laid the rocket launcher to the wall. He unfastened his uniform to cool down and loaded his Sten. This summers day had slowly fermented to an even worse situation.

The blinding heat from the sun and the intensity of the Germans assault bore down on the remaining allied soldiers like the wrath of God. The summer breeze had fled and left the foliage to die in their surroundings alongside the soldiers. Sparking wreckage, bloodied corpses, and burnt out impact craters of explosives adorned the town of Renneville like battle scars. Fate had turned a blind eye to its promising liberators.

Deep inside the bowels of the sewers scurried Annabelle and Peterson. They felt their way across the sewer linings with the light from the open sewer grills showing them the way like beacons of summer illumination. Annabelle was ahead of Peterson, and she kept peeking back to see how her friend was doing, he was still shaken from the recent fight and the deaths of his comrades in arms. "Hurry up Peterson," she urged, "Once we reach the church we can rest and fend off the remains of the German troops, but at the minute the others are relying on us. Come on!" she went back and pushed him on through the steamy dank corridors beneath the city streets. He swung his head about in distaste of the situation, and caught a glimpse of a figure outside the grills that he recognised. "Williams?"

Sure enough, Williams was still dragging his barely conscious mate just next to where Annabelle and Peterson were passing. Peterson hissed from the sewer grill, "Williams!" Williams tossed his head back and forth looking for the voice that had harkened to him from the assumed ether. Peterson leaned his hand out from the grill and clamped it around Williams ankle, he leapt up in fright and noticed his friend's arm emerging from the catacombs of the city. "What the bloody hell are you doing down there?" asked Williams, still well aware that German soldiers were bustling around the city. Peterson pushed his face against the grill, "We're going to the church to fend of the Germans, I thought you'd be there by now." Williams wiped his dry and tired eyes with his bloody fist, the wound on his arm had wept all this way, and began to stick to Williams, "Not by a long shot mate," he responded, "Me and Johnson are going to find our own way there, and hopefully take out some bleedin' krauts on the way. You get there safely, alright?" Peterson nodded, then delved into a satchel to his side and removed three dusty objects. Williams was confused, "Here you go," said Peterson, "You take these Molotov's and put them to good use, I doubt I'll get a chance to use them." Williams looked at the bottles, they were grimy and dirty, with a murky liquid swilling around excitedly in them, torn rags from a pair of curtains swayed from the bottleneck, limp, yet oiled and ready for the flames to consume it. "Cheers, Peterson" smiled Williams. It was then that Annabelle gradually made her way to the grill to look upon Williams, "Annabelle?" he was taken away by the surprise of her appearance, why wasn't she at the church already? "Are you okay? What are you still doing here?" Williams was unsure how to react to the will to fight shown by Annabelle. "Peterson needed help," she said, "Everyone else was dead, I had to get him out of there" she smiled just like she had when they first spoke, and Williams knew what had to be done. "Get to the church and ride out the rest of the storm," he told her, "don't worry about me and Johnson, we'll catch up with you chaps later." He arched his back, picked up Johnson and continued to drag him away. Peterson and Annabelle took a fleeting glance at each other and followed the sewer once more.

McIntyre emptied the final round of his current magazine and spun back behind the church doors. "We won't be able to hold out for long Captain!" he hollered to Winslow, who was deep inside his own realm of determination to quell the German attack. Earnings too was deeply focussed on his actions, and neither could hear the amplifying noise of tracks upon cobble, nor the commotion of German tongue orchestrating a plan. McIntyre, however, did and dove for the rocket launcher. He glanced at both windows, he couldn't risk letting Earnings or Winslow stop firing for a second, or they would loose their cover. He held the weapon tightly to his chest and headed for the stirs to the church tower.

Phillips was sat aloft on the church tower, expelling hundreds of bullets in seconds at the Germans, those that ventured from behind cover were soon convulsing on the floor in their own blood. McIntyre heaved himself up the last step to where Phillips was perched, "What the fucking hell are you doing up here?" coughed Phillips. McIntyre lugged the rocket launcher up with him and got into position. Phillips kept looking back between the targets and McIntyre to see what each was doing. McIntyre placed the weapon on his shoulder and aimed through the smoke and rubble, he knew the tank was there. Its laboured advance was justly dignified by the grumble of its tracks grinding over bodies, making them burst with fluid and offal. McIntyre readied himself and took a shot. The rocket span and crashed into the side of the tank, splitting its tracks from its side, yet the creature wasn't down, it reared its metal snout and glared at the tower, Phillips froze in terror, his skin whitening with each passing second. McIntyre yelped to his startled comrade, "Help me load the rocket launcher! Now, Phillips!" Phillips dragged himself back from the edge of the tower and sheepishly looked to McIntyre, who pleaded to him, "Just put the shell into the fucking tube!" Phillips shakily removed a rocket from McIntyre's backpack and slid it into the cold metal cylinder of the rocket launcher. McIntyre heard a click next to his ear and positioned himself again. The tank was aimed directly at him.

His heart stopped, all time bled to a stop and everything happened as each second dragged into an hour. Firstly, the tank fired, then he did. The tank shell just missed McIntyre, but instead connected with the unlucky Lieutenant Phillips, who detonated with a flood of claret and body parts that jettisoned all over the tower top. McIntyre was drenched in the contents of his fellow soldier, as well as being flung back down a portion of the stairs. The rocket from McIntyre's shot collided with the tank and prised the turret from the tank's chassis. The resulting explosion directed shards of metal to rain everywhere. McIntyre wiped some of Phillips from his face and pulled himself back to the body of the church where Earnings and Winslow were holding back.

Earnings spent another round into an approaching German and hid to reload. He called to Winslow, "Got another one captain!" Winslow muttered to Earnings, "Shut your pie-hole Earnings and concentrate on your reloading" Earnings brought himself up and opened fire again at the Germans, or so he thought. His rifle clicked harmlessly and spluttered with inactivity. Earnings was mortified, "FUCK!" he squealed, "MY FUCKING RIFLES JAMMED!" Earnings panicked and beat the walls for an explanation, Winslow shouted at him, "HEY! Shut up! Just get out your sidearm and shoot, don't give in!" Earnings looked to his belt, strapped to it was the pouch of an American Colt 1911. Because Medics weren't trained to be the best at weapons, some of them were given an American pistol, due to its availability and fast, fairly powerful rate of fire it was an invaluable means of protection. Earnings pulled the pistol from its holster and fired wildly into the German gang. Just behind them emerged Peterson and Annabelle from the sewer entrance. Peterson lifted the sewer hatch and slid it aside, the metal circle banging loudly against the concrete slabs of the church floor. Winslow spun around, hollered at Peterson, "Die Nazi Bastard", and opened fire. Peterson was stung by a throng of bullets and he slid to the floor helplessly, coughing up blood in vigorous amounts. Annabelle screamed at Peterson's assault and stayed in the sewer, Peterson's foot dangling into the open hole. Winslow heard Annabelle's cry and ran to the sewer opening, now he recognised Peterson and covered his mouth in dread for what he had done. Annabelle peered up to see Winslow and his horrified look of realisation. "Captain…" she began, "What have you done?"

Williams rested Johnson at the peak of the stairs. They had found shelter in a broken house, the front had been torn away from what appeared to be a tank shell, the view from the gaping hole of the building was astounding. Husks of metal and bone dressed the streets and ruins of Renneville, fire shot and bloomed from the broken buildings like flaming weeds. Williams kept himself away from the opening, something was amiss, "Can you hear that?" he asked Johnson, "Hear what?" replied Johnson, "Exactly" finished Williams. The wind was all that was audible through the tattered stone and rags of fabric, it clumsily tapped along the brick walls and pushed aside the textile that happened to remain upright. Williams crawled over to the missing wall and looked to the road, indeed his suspicions were confirmed: the final German soldiers had assembled just beneath them. The mob of German troops had regrouped to think of a new strategy against the British. Williams recoiled from the broken side of the building and hailed to Johnson, "They're down there, about twenty of them. We might have a chance if we…" Johnson put a bloody mitt to Williams mouth in an attempt to silence him. He pulled himself up and reasoned with Williams, "Don't Williams…" he started, "I know you mean well, but you're too hopeful. You've seen the way I am, I don't do heroic stand-offs, just like in St Fredrique's. It's what I do. Finlay did what he does, go in with fists flailing, full of gusto. Donahue did what he always does, keep our backs covered from aloft…" Williams saw a tear well in the hazy eye of Johnson, "Miller did what he does, and work with what he had. And me…" The tear sprang from his eye and lolled down his face, "I curled up and gave in. I'm such a bastard" the tear stained a clear path through the grime and blood cast on his face. He gripped a hold of Williams' arm and begged him, "Williams, I haven't known you long, but I know you're a good man. Get out of here. You don't have to suffer this…please…for me." Williams consoled his sobbing friend, but heard voices from the Germans below. He didn't manage to collect all the information, but the words that he understood came as clear as daylight over the horizon of hell.

"Advance"

"Streets"

"Attack"

"Failure"

"Radio"

"Stuka"

"Destroy"

Winslow picked up Annabelle from the sewers and brushed her down, she moved his hands away in disgust. Earnings came back from the window to see what was going on. When he saw Petersons' corpse, he stumbled back in horror. Winslow tried to make Annabelle look in his eyes to get a straight answer, yet before he could get a word out, Earnings jumped in asking, "What the bloody hell happened to Peterson?" Winslow gave Earnings a deep satanic glare, forcing him to recount his words; there was nothing to see here. Winslow left Annabelle sitting beside the sewer entrance and kicked the body of Peterson into the open sewer hole. A dull, yet moistened thud confirmed his action, and Winslow slid the sewer cover over the hole. McIntyre flopped down the stairs, still heavily laden with Phillips smeared over his face. He was intrigued as to why the three remaining soldiers were looking so guilty, yet didn't feel obliged to ask. He dropped the rocket launcher and went to Annabelle, "Annabelle, are you okay, where's everyone else?" she looked up to Winslow, who still grimaced at her in discontent, then to McIntyre who was truly concerned for the well-being of his squad-mates. Annabelle began her recount as a low mumble, but slowly grew in volume, "I quickly got out of the hotel before the Germans swamped it, Miller and Carter are both dead and Peterson…" she felt Winslow's stare burning into her head, "Peterson died as well, they all died." McIntyre crouched down to her face and asked, "Is Williams and Johnson okay?" she glanced back up again and answered, "Yes, but Johnson's hurt badly, I think its his legs." Winslow acted innocent to his earlier actions and asked Annabelle, "What about Benton, Ridley, Markson, and Rush?" Annabelle sat silent, but McIntyre jumped to her aid, "Do you think they'd get those bleeding tanks through if they were alive?" Winslow turned back from them and made his way to the windows. Everyone remained silent, not wanting to converse, when an unexpected guest fell through the door to the side. It was Williams.

He picked himself up and clambered over to the remaining few soldiers, "Jesus Christ it's good to see you!" he exclaimed. Annabelle leapt to Williams to help him up, he was exhausted. McIntyre trudged over to Williams, trying not to look at the vastly worsening wound to his arm, "What's al the commotion for Williams?" He got his footing and told the situation to the others, "Me and Johnson found out what the Germans are up to. We were hiding in this house, and I heard that the krauts are trying to sneak through the streets to reach the church and smoke us out. If that fails, then they're going to radio in a Stuka to bomb the whole fucking building." All was aflutter, McIntyre asked, "Where's Johnson now?" Williams looked to his feet and shambled over to pews, "He told me to leave him in the house. After all we've been through, I didn't want to piss the poor lad off." McIntyre put a hand on Williams shoulder and told him, "It's okay, there was nothing you could do" Williams nodded in agreement, then looked about the church in bemusement, "Where's Peterson?"


	13. Consequence

The sinful darkness of the smoke that ushered from the wreckage began to loiter around the sky, blotting any and all light available. The fading town of Renneville was totally consumed by the inky blackness. The ruined streets tumbled in further and the hearts of those who sought to save it were broken. Both British and German soldiers were reaching the end of their tether, hanging from a thread. Deep inside the church laid the final remains of the British division sent in to save Renneville from German occupation, out of the countless sections wasted in vain to protect Renneville, only 4 men were left and one French resistance member. Yet, a figure still squirmed in the shadows.

Stranded in the upper floor of the shelled-out house sat Johnson; he hadn't moved the slightest from when Williams had left him, and he was still very much alive. Given the strength, he would have howled in pain as he slowly died. Yet, he was too weak to do even that. He lolled his head around and whimpered to himself, "Jesus, why won't I die?" the march of boots on wooden beams brought his head up. In the room now were three German soldiers and their commander. He lifted Johnson's head with the end of his gun, and then let it drop. He turned to his men, "You two, take the prisoner to the Kubelwagen outside of town and report him to the nearest patrol. Make sure they deliver him to a camp. Let them heal him, then when that's done…bleed him dry." They saluted the officer and picked up Johnson, who was completely dead to words. "You," the officer said to the last soldier, "tell the men to ready for the attack. We'll take these British bastards one way or another."

Williams felt the need to reiterate, and did so, "Where's Peterson?" McIntyre looked to his friend again in sorrow, "He's dead" Williams was distraught, "Shite, just as well he gave me the Molotovs, we might still need them" McIntyre looked to Williams in utter disbelief, "How did you get those? You were nowhere near Peterson for the duration of the attack." Williams couldn't believe that his friend had no idea what was going on, "Annabelle and Peterson went through the sewers to escape the hotel, me and Johnson met them by a sewer grate. Peterson gave me the Molotovs." He looked to Annabelle in reassurance; "Annabelle, he did didn't he" she looked to the floor, Winslow's hateful stare keeping her down. McIntyre glanced at Captain Winslow, "Captain," he started, "what happened to Private Peterson?" Winslow addressed McIntyre, "Sergeant, stand down" McIntyre refused, "What happened to Private Peterson, Captain?" Winslow turned his back to them and began to mumble to himself. McIntyre reached out to Winslow, who brought his Sten down onto McIntyre's arm. McIntyre winced in pain, Winslow aimed his weapon at the remaining soldiers, "STAND DOWN!" he bellowed, "You all would've done the same thing in my position, don't criticise what you don't understand! It could've been a German, where do you have the right to tell me my actions were unnecessary?" Williams pleaded to him, "Captain, calm down," he had stood up now beside McIntyre, reinforcing his stance, "Just put your gun down, and we can sort all this out" Winslow threw away their help, "Just fuck off Williams! I don't need any of this. We're still at war you stupid bastards! If none of you are going to do anything about it, then I guess it's all up to me." Winslow stormed out the church doors and ran down the road that lead from the church, McIntyre, Williams, Annabelle, and Earnings all cried out for him to return, but it was too late.

Winslow shuddered as the volley of German rifle rounds ripped him apart; he collapsed to the floor and shivered. The German commander strode cockily out over to Winslow's beaten body. He spied Winslow's insignia, "A Captain, eh?" he mused. He drew his pistol and emptied two bullets into Winslow's head, blood sprayed onto his face and pooled around Winslow's now-empty expression.

McIntyre fell back from the church doors; everything was falling apart. He looked to his remaining men, they were scared, and he saw the fear bloat in their eyes. "Listen," he hushed, "there's no way in hell we can hold out against twenty Germans. Here's what I want you to do…" they were listening intently, "Get out of here, find the American armour. They shouldn't be too far away, I'll keep the Germans occupied." Annabelle spoke out against McIntyre's idea, "Miller did that, and now he's gone. Don't do it sir!" McIntyre re-affirmed his plan, "I'm not going to fight them. Now please, just get away and find the yanks. NOW!" They scrabbled their equipment together and left, Williams standing in the back doorway for a little longer, lingering one last look at McIntyre. McIntyre looked back to his concerned friend, "I'm not going anywhere Williams, but you need to." Williams curled his fingers and turned away. McIntyre sat upon one of the pews in the church. He glanced about at the biblical décor of the building and fingered his canteen. He looked longingly at the silvery metal that encased the fluid inside, "I think I deserve a scotch" he muttered to himself, and took a swig from the flask. He wiped his mouth dry and approached the church doors. Cupping his mouth he shouted out down the road in German, "I surrender!"

By now Williams, Annabelle and Earnings were a distance away. They had to clamber through all manners of gardens and hedgerows just to reach the western road that the American tanks were destined to cross. Williams found himself dragging behind, his pace was fatigued and cumbersome and he knew the reason. His wound combined with the absence of sleep had caught up with him and he felt its grip piercing his lungs with exhaustion. He threw himself down on the grass; Earnings balanced himself on a rock that protruded from the earth like a shard of debris by the roadside. Annabelle sat beside Williams, mopping his brow; she could tell he was weary. "I'm so f…fucking tired," he groaned, "I need some sleep" Annabelle agreed, "You need to rest Williams, you can't do this to yourself." Earnings was looking out for the tanks, when the shapes of several Shermans came bobbing into his field of view, "They're here!" he called to Williams and Annabelle. Earnings jumped into the road and waved his arms in the air shouting, "Oi! British soldiers here!" the tanks advance gradually slowed down until they were right beside the three soldiers. From within the green husk of the tank emerged a figure, he greeted the three with surprising appreciation, "Hi guys, Jesus are we glad we found you. Is this Renneville?" he pointed to the city behind them, Earnings nodded.

"Right then, are you folks the British paratroopers sent in to defend it?"

"Well what's left of it anyway"

"Fucking hell, what happened?"

"There were a couple of things we weren't expecting"

"Such as?"

"Tanks, and a bastard load of Krauts"

"Crap, what's the situation then with the city?"

"There's about twenty Germans in the town, could you spare a few men to flush them out?"

"What for? We can just blow the shit out of the town"

Earnings could see this wasn't going anywhere, "Look mate, we've got a British soldier still in there. I can lead the soldiers to where he is, and then we flush out the Germans so you can mow them down with the tank guns. Alright?" The tank commander mutually agreed, although he was disappointed he couldn't blow something up, "Sure, there's some guys from the Canadian infantry tagging along with us, I'm sure they'll help you." Earnings thanked the tank commander and went to consult the Canadian troops. "Hey," the tank commander said when he saw Williams, "what's up with him?" Williams raised his eyes to the American and slurred to him, "I'm fucking shattered mate, that's what's up with me". The American slinked back into his tank muttering, "Jeez, I was only asking."

McIntyre clipped the canteen firmly back onto his belt. He stretched his arms till the muscles in them began to string apart. All he had to do was wait for his untimely demise at the hands of the Germans; he wished he had really thought this plan through. Then they came, no more time to worry about decisions now; this was it. The soldiers entered through every nook and opening, weapons drawn and aimed at the solitary form in the centre of the church. McIntyre raised his arms again and felt the strain from his stretch. He could feel the heat from the gun barrels singing the air around him as they drew in close to his face. Just then, the commander sauntered into the church, still gripping his pistol from his encounter with Winslow before. He spread the men away and came face to face with McIntyre.

"With whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting?" he hissed, his accent biting into each syllable with the sharpness of his voice resonating through the rafters of the church. McIntyre lowered his arms and answered, "I am Sergeant McIntyre of the 1st British Airborne." The commander lowered his head and chuckled softly to himself, "I do believe we've met before Sergeant," McIntyre looked confused, it was hard not to when approximately twenty German soldiers are surrounding you, weapons at the ready. "From what I did hear on that day, you were one of those responsible for spilling the blood of my comrade, Herr Kechtmarn at the town of St Fredrique du Clamont, Yes?" McIntyre bit his lip, "Although not completely responsible for the death of…" The commander swung his pistol into McIntyre's face, he span to the floor, "ANSWER THE QUESTION!" he screamed at McIntyre. McIntyre wiped the blood from his mouth and said what they wanted to hear, "Yes, I was responsible" The commander paced around McIntyre and tutted to himself, "You were lucky to escape that town alive, I had obliterated that speck of French dirt from the face of its sordid country. I should get a medal for that." McIntyre could see the fool rambling on and on, but decided not to do anything about it what could he do? If he made a move then he would be shot dead, as simple as that.

Time had dripped by, and things had bent back on themselves. McIntyre had been gagged and bound in the corner of the church, the Germans lazing around him. The rope scratched away at his flesh, burning his contents, he gave a muffled yelp of pain, yet they didn't care. The Germans had located the vats of wine hidden beneath the church and had run rampant with them. They sang drunken bar songs and sloshed the scarlet liqueur down their throats. McIntyre felt so helpless, the growing sound of drunken ranting blurring with the menace of his situation tampered with his psyche, and he felt defeated. From across the aisle he heard the inebriated cry of one of the German troops, "H-Hey, that's two prisoners in one day," he hiccupped and laughed to himself, "We should be honoured by the Fuhrer, it's not everyday the invaders surrender is it?" he guffawed a slack-jawed laugh and slapped his thigh with enthusiasm. McIntyre tried to block all this horror out, it was only a matter of time until they carted him off to a concentration camp, those cages of hell and torment, he couldn't survive that. Silently, he shed a tear.

From outside, Earnings led the Canadian soldiers round the back entrance of the church; some Americans had followed with them so as they could help as best as they could. Earnings had been given a M1 Garand rifle off one of the Americans, to replace his British rifle, he had been taught how to use one, but was still wary of the unfamiliar contraption. He had led the crew of soldiers into the church garden, "Alright chaps, this is it," he instructed, "don't use grenades, we could injure McIntyre, I want the machinegunners to put down suppressing fire from this doorway while I lead the riflemen to take out the remaining krauts." He was surprised at the level of tactical understanding he had, he was a medic, not a captain. He slinked to the side door with the riflemen in tow; he positioned himself next to the door and called to the machinegunners, "OPEN FIRE!"

The back door was blown down by the force of Private Smith's kick, he took shelter behind the doorframe whilst his comrades drew their guns and sent a hail of bullets at the unsuspecting German soldiers. The cackle of machinegun bullets gushed through the church, three of the drunken Germans were caught unaware and brought down to the cold floor, vomiting blood from every bullet-opened gate in their bodies. The others jumped to attention and dove for cover, the attack was unprecedented, and they were too scared to load their guns properly. Earnings crept along the church wall with his troop of men, their breaths held tight. Now the Germans came into clear sight from behind their cover, Earnings levelled his rifle and told the others to do so. They let rip a bolt of lead that took down another two Germans, Earnings was propelled back by the force of the Garand, yet his shot connected and aided in the German retreat. The remaining Germans fled the church and made their steady way down the roads of Renneville. Their path was blocked by the oncoming sight of three American tanks, one soldier yelled to the other, "Where are the grenades?" to which he could only reply, "Back in the church."

Earnings signalled the machinegunners to advance to the church windows and he untied McIntyre. McIntyre was surprised to see his fellow soldier leading the American retaliation. "Bloody good show Earnings" McIntyre shook Earnings' hand and picked up one of the German machineguns. From the road rolled the tanks, as soon as the first one saw the German soldiers, he opened fire with the heavy machinegun. The bullets sprayed down the street, mincing up the final few German troops, although there were thirteen left, they were too stricken with shock and surprise to do anything against the Americans. Inside the church, the troops let out short bursts of controlled fire to see off the last of the Germans. As soon as the last one fell, the Americans and the Canadians let out a cheer of triumph; McIntyre sat down on a pew and pulled Earnings next to him. "Thank you Earnings," he said, "I half expected Williams to show up, you know?" Earnings nodded with McIntyre, "I know," Earnings continued, "Williams was suffering from exhaustion so the Yanks took him on the truck and are currently seeing to him. Don't know how he survived all this without sleep." McIntyre had let his eyes wander as Earnings told him this, his gaze rested on the countenance of the German commander who had gagged him; he had been the first to fall to the Americans, serves him right, he thought.

The tanks drew in the rest of the American convoy into the city, the blanket of smoke rising from the battlefield. The soldiers in the church opened the doors and went to debrief with the tank commander, as they made their way, light from the sun broke through the defences of the cloud and smoke, beaming onto the now-calm city. McIntyre met the leader of his liberators, the tank commander, who was happy to see the plan succeed, "Well fuck me, I though that was never going to work. Glad you guys got out of there okay, especially you Sergeant, I've heard good things about you." He smiled at McIntyre and led the tanks on, "Wait!" called McIntyre, the tank commander looked back to see what the problem was, "Where are you going? We need to reinforce the town's defences and secure it for allied occupation." The tank commander sighed and explained to McIntyre, "Sorry there Sergeant, we have orders from HQ to clear the next set of towns, you'd be welcome to join us." McIntyre thought about it, but had to make his refusal, "Sorry, my mission is to hold Renneville from any possible attack until allied occupation." He glanced to Earnings who was busy chatting away to the Canadian riflemen, "I'm sure Private Earnings would help you with the next series of towns, wouldn't you Private?" Earnings overheard McIntyre and his face lit up, he nodded eagerly and hopped onto the side of the tank, "I definitely would sir, thank you!" he called to McIntyre, then to his new Canadian friends, "I'm coming with you lads!" McIntyre chuckled to himself and stretched his back. "We'd be happy to leave a few guys here with you, just so you can hold out against Jerry" McIntyre thanked the tank commander and strolled off to the truck.

McIntyre jumped onto the back of the truck and looked around. He pulled back the fabric sheets that obscured the trucks contents, and sure enough, there was Williams, sound asleep for the first time in a week. Annabelle sat by his side watching him with caring, compassionate eyes that was until she saw McIntyre watching her. She looked down and felt a bit embarrassed. McIntyre wiped his mouth and plainly told her, "I'm going to stay here with a few American lads, are you going to stay with Williams?" he murmured at the mention of his name. Annabelle laughed at Williams little noise and smiled at him, "Well sir, I think I will. He needs a friendly face to look at when he wakes up doesn't he?" McIntyre agreed, "Okay Annabelle, you stay beside him, I might see you and Williams later, okay?" she had turned her attention to the unconscious Williams and didn't notice McIntyre get out the truck. He stood beside the roadside as the American convoy trailed off into the distance, off to save more unwitting allied soldiers. "Er…sir?" a voice came from behind him, McIntyre looked to his new squad, ten gritty-faced American soldiers. He turned around to face them all, hoisted his belt, and rearranged his bandolier. "Alright chaps, I'm Sergeant McIntyre, this town is our responsibility. We will be officially relieved by tomorrow, until then, be on high alert. Don't stress over it too much, just remember to keep your gun on you at all times. Many good men have fallen fending this city; if you too fall to it, remember that you went down with some of the best in her majesties armed forces. Now…fall out." McIntyre kept an eye on the men as each peeled off to their own position to wait for any Germans. They all seemed so eager to help the cause.

No Germans did come, the next day, McIntyre and his men were relieved by the same convoy that had done so before. Williams had made a full recovery and was keen to rejoin his friend in the remaining operation to clear out Normandy from German occupation. Annabelle also accompanied the men in the final days of relieving Normandy before being reassigned to a high priority mission deep inside German territory. Earnings stuck with his squad of Americans and were a major role in many frontline missions across France. It was in this squad that he was told the fate of the American mission to find one "James Francis Ryan". The path the American soldiers took almost exactly mirrored the path of McIntyre and Williams in such a way, that they were no more than three miles apart.

THE END


End file.
